


Insanity is the Game

by Colelockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brainwashing, Dark John, Dark Molly, Dead John, Did I mention angst, Friends to Lovers, Other, Reichenbach Feels, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colelockian/pseuds/Colelockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John jumps to save Sherlock, Sherlock goes on a fatal manhunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning to Fly

_Why am I doing this?_

_Why am I going up there?_

John Watson was again going through these questions and still unable to come up with anything. He had to protect his friends that was the only thing that mattered but why was he going so willingly.

**Meet me on St. Bart's roof - JM**

The message was clear, so John hadn't hesitated in obeying the summons. 

**Come play Johnny boy :) but Sherlock isn't invited - JM**

Here he was staring at the tall man in the expensive Westwood suit.

"Oh there you are Johnny," Moriarty greeted, gesturing for the doctor to move closer, "I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting."

"Not like you gave me a choice." John shot back moving closer. He hated this.

Moriarty laughed, "Johnny you know me so well and here I thought you were so normal," He strolled closer to John and circled around him, "But you are more aren't you?" That creepy smile was nauseating.

"I'm not a psycho." The doctor muttered his eyes following Moriarty.

The taller man reached out a finger, stroking John's cheek.

The doctor flinched receiving a smirk from Moriarty. "What am I doing here?" John asked glaring.

James stopped his movement in front of the doctor. His smile was pleasant and very suspicious. "Making a point my dear doctor,"

"What point?"

"I made a promise Johnny and one I intend to keep," Moriarty answered turning and walking from John.

Automatically the other man followed. Sad to say he was curious knowing Moriarty had something in mind for Sherlock.

"What does that have to do with me?" He didn't care, John just wanted this conversation to be over so he could go home.

"Everything Johnny! You see I promised Sherlock that I would burn the heart from him," Moriarty spoke as he stopped just before the roofs edge, "And you, Johnny will be the one to help me do that."

John frowned. "Sherlock doesn't have a heart," He snapped. He knew that wasn't true, knew that Sherlock was a good man who tried to hide his emotions. Sherlock was his best friend. The only person in the world he cared about the most and he would do anything for that man.

"Tsk, tsk Johnny no need to lie to me. I know Sherlock loves you. I know you are the one that holds his heart."

John stared at the man, stunned after hearing that.

"At first I didn't see how such an unassuming man could hold Sherlock's attention but I discovered that gorgeous Sherlock broke his own rules; sentiment, affection, love. It’s a little disappointing but I'm hoping to spice it up." Moriarty said turning to look at John again.  He now held a gun aiming it at the other man.

The gun didn't scare John, they never did. He was still stuck on Moriarty's words of Sherlock love.

"Sherlock loves me?" The words came out slow and uncertain.

Moriarty grinned leaning forward on his toes "Silly really but yes. He's madly and absolutely in love with you."

John felt the words sink in and they made sense even from the mouth of the psychopath. There were those moments when Sherlock always stood too close, his touches lingering a bit too long, and even when his words came out sentimental.

"Sherlock is in love with me." John spoke with certainty missing the smile widen on Moriarty's face.

"How you didn't know is beyond me Johnny but yes lovely little Sherly self-proclaimed sociopath, asexual virgin is undeniably in love with you." James sat back on his heels.

How had he missed it? Him! The man, who knew and saw how Sherlock worked, why hadn’t he seen the signs? People mentioned the changes they saw since John started living and working with the sociopath. Somehow John hadn’t noticed a difference…or had he been in denial?

"Now this is getting boring!" Moriarty cried snapping John from his revelation, "We have a game to play!"

The doctor felt a shiver run through him, sensing he knew where this was leading.

"Come look John." The tall man instructed waving for John.

Hesitating a moment John eyed the other man before moving closer. Looking down the dizzying height to the sidewalk below John forced his eyes to Moriarty.

"See there?" He was pointing to an open window across the street. 

Squinting, the doctor spotted the outline of a man crouched in the opening aiming a sniper rifle on the street below.

"What is this?" John asked feeling a snippet of fear for the pedestrians.

Moriarty nodded towards the road without a word clearly wanting John to look for what he was supposed to be seeing. Sighing John looked again placing his hands on the wall that was the edge of the roof. At first he didn't spot anything, nothing below looked important or familiar.

A cab rounded the street corner and pulled up to the curb letting a tall, raven haired man in a black Belstaff step out.

Glancing to the sniper John watched the man moving the weapon towards the new arrival. His eyes snapped back to the man on the street.

"Sherlock," John whispered fear flooding through him as he watched the tall man ducking back into the cab, probably to pay the fare. "What do you want?" He asked wanting nothing more than to stop Sherlock's death.

"I only want one thing doctor," Moriarty replied sounding like he was having a friendly conversation over tea, "To burn Sherlock's heart. Hurting Sherlock himself would do nothing since his heart is here in front of me so the only way to truly break Sherly is to break you!"

John's stomach dropped as he glanced from Moriarty to Sherlock down on the street all thoughts of going home forgotten.

"You're going to learn to fly doctor!" James giggled, moving until his was closer to John.

"No..."

"Oh Johnny don't get boring now! If you don't learn to fly my snipers will not only kill Sherlock but three others and their blood will be on your hands. The only thing that will stop them is your falling body hitting the pavement." Moriarty watched Sherlock's cab drive off, leaving the detective on the sidewalk fully exposed.

John looked to the sniper and saw the man tense, his gun following Sherlock's every movement.

"Stop, fine. I'll do it...just don't," John said pushing himself on to the wall of the roof’s edge.

"Good doctor, I knew you would play!" Moriarty sang clapping his hands together excitedly like a child.

"You are sick!" John snapped standing up on the wall.

"You say the nicest things!" James said stepping back from the doctor.

John watched Sherlock who was absorbed in the phone in his hands and hadn’t moved from the spot where the cab had dropped him. It was a typical Sherlock pose that it put a lump in John’s throat to think about it.

"Can I say goodbye?"

It was a small request that seemed unlikely to be allowed. John just couldn’t jump without hearing his mad flat mate’s voice one more time even if he would be breaking the man’s heart.

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Slowly John pulled out his phone his hands barely shook as he hurriedly clicked, dialing Sherlock's number. The second ring in Sherlock answered, "John, I'm at Bart's heading in..."

"Sherlock, stop right there. Turn around and go back the way you came." John spoke rapidly wanting the other man away from what was about to happen. He didn’t want him to have to watch.

"John, what is it? What is going on? Where are you?" Sherlock shot off questions, clearly hearing the desperation in the doctor’s voice.

John watched his friend frozen on the ground below and not looking to be listening. Even when John was about to die did the man listen?

"Look up," He whispered, watching Sherlock's head tilt to look up.

"What are you doing on the roof?"

There was fear in those words and they hurt John. He wanted so much to put those fears to rest, to assure the man that everything was going to be alright.

"I'm coming up, don't move." Sherlock stated as he started walking towards the hospital.

"No Sherlock! Stop, stay there!"

"But John I..."

"Stay there Sherlock. Keep your eyes fixed on me!" John interrupted his voice firm, throwing a hand out towards his friend as if physically stopping him or reaching for him.

Sherlock stopped walked, "John?"

The doctor watched his friend’s own arm come up as if reaching for him as well.

"Sherlock it’s been too much, everything. It was nothing you did, of course, it’s just...it’s me Sherlock...it’s always been me."

The words were flying out of his mouth as he glanced to see Moriarty's face. It bubbled with excitement and anticipation. John felt sick and turned to look back at his friend.

"This last year with you has been the best of my life and I have to thank you for that. I've never had a friend like you Sherlock and I'm glad I got to know the real you, that I got to see that heart of yours at work."

"John..." His name through the phone was pleading and John felt tears on his face. He could almost hear Sherlock’s heart breaking and the confusion whirling in his brain.

"This is my note...isn't that what people do...leave notes...?"

"When?"

"I love you Sherlock thank you."

With that John dropped the phone letting it slide through his fingers and fall down to the sidewalk.

"Do it now Johnny while the drama is still fresh." Moriarty pressed, “Fly little hedgehog, fly!”

John kept his face down at the street below, looking Sherlock over on last time before throwing his arms out and stepped from the roof, closing his eyes.


	2. Miracle

“I’ve gotten them all John,” Sherlock spoke slowly, staring at the headstone.

The headstone that had replaced the skull on the mantle, the hard, white marble with the dark lettering, each letter spelling out his name, that name that caused so much pain. Sherlock’s body froze whenever he saw that name engraved in the stone but he couldn’t stay away.

“The last two years I’ve been tracking them all down…for you.” The tall man told the marble feeling the emptiness starting to creep in. That emptiness brought on the familiar anger that always seemed to flare out of nowhere.

“Why John, why couldn’t you wait? Why couldn’t you let me help you?” Sherlock hissed at the grave.

Of course there was no answer which made him even angrier, “John I could have saved you! I could have stopped him but then you went and jumped! I spent the last two years searching for him but for what? What will I get at the end of all of this?”

Sherlock yelled at the stone, “Will I get you back, will you somehow not be dead? Can you do that for me? One last miracle Dr. Watson…don’t be dead…” The rage left him as swiftly as it had come bringing on the tears, the self-loathing.

Sherlock fell to his knees before the plot, eyes fixed on the name. “I should have listened John. I should have left Moriarty alone…but I was selfish,” The wet grass under his knees was starting to soak through but Sherlock didn’t care, “It’s my fault…it’s all my fault that you are…that you fell…I killed you…” The emotion was thick in his voice.

_I love you Sherlock…_

After John jumped, Sherlock had fallen apart hearing those words echoing through every waking moment. No amount of drugs or alcohol dimmed the noise, nothing quailed the ghost of John’s final confession. Sherlock never had the courage to say those words to his doctor, he never took the chance.

“I love you John…I never got to tell you. There were so many moments I could have…and…I didn’t. I missed out on you…I lost the best part of me, I lost something I never had, something I wanted…please John, please don’t be dead.” Sherlock was sobbing now. This was his familiar plea, the one thing he always asked, and the one thing that was never granted.

Sherlock crawled over until he was sitting next to the marble. “You saved me so many times John and I never thanked you…I never showed you how much you really meant to me…I was too late…”

Leaning against the stone, Sherlock pressed his forehead into it watching again as John’s small body fell through the air. Sherlock didn’t see the doctor’s body make it to the ground but he could swear he heard it, heard the crack of bone slamming into unrelenting pavement. He had screamed John’s name he remembered, the name ripping from his vocal chords rushing to catch his falling love but nothing could stop that.

“I tried to erase you…” Sherlock murmured to the marble, “I was hurting so much…I…I thought it might be better to take you out of my mind…but…I couldn’t take out a part of me…John you weaved your very being into my soul…and…I couldn’t…”

Sherlock’s mind palace was nothing but John. Every moment spent with the doctor frozen in time, every piece of information about the man carved into the walls. Sherlock poured over it, obsessed, and addicted, fearing that it might start to fade, that it too would fall.

“He’s the only one who is left John…Moriarty…he’s the only one and I’m going to make him pay for taking you from me…he burned the heart from me but I’ve done much worse…I’ve ripped away his power, his control.” Sherlock told the stone, stroking the cool surface slowly, “I’ve taken the one thing James has ever cared about…like he did to me…”

Two years of running all over Europe, ripping up Moriarty’s roots, following him from continent to continent, and chasing him until he finally returned to London. Moriarty thought he was safe here. How wrong he was, Sherlock was going to end it. He was going to cut James off, Sherlock had become death. Moriarty would finally be the one burning and there would be no faking it.

“When he’s finally gone…I will be able to rest…I’ll be able to see you again…” Sherlock spoke pulling the gun from his waist band.

John’s gun, the one he had shot the cabbie with.

“I’ll come see you John, and then I can tell you…everything.” Sherlock stared at the weapon fighting the temptation to use it now.

_We’re not done yet._

A voice purred stilling the strong urge. Sherlock often heard these voices and when he was lucky John would make an appearance. His voice would bring Sherlock to his knees hanging onto ever word. John always spoke gently, in a tone he had often used on Sherlock when the younger man was bored.

“How did you do it John? How did you stand everyday with me?” Sherlock had asked this quiet often, “How did you find it in your heart to love me? I was a beast, something so unlovable…but you…you found a way to love me…you saved me…you said you got to see my heart…you thanked me for letting you see my heart at work…”

Sherlock didn’t even need to conjure up his mind palace to remember the words that John had spoken through the phone. He mesmerized every syllable, every breath and emotion that had been relayed to him. At the time Sherlock’s eyes had focused on John’s form balanced on the roof. There wasn’t much he could deduce from the large distance but he knew that something was wrong and how it was going to end.

Sherlock had been going to find his doctor after receiving evidence that Rich Brooks didn’t exist and Moriarty was at large in London. Seeing John’s small form dwarfed by the distance Sherlock’s heart had dropped. The next few minutes had gone by too quickly and then John’s body was rushing towards the ground.

_JOHN!!!_

Millions of times Sherlock had gone over the scene, had tried to think of any way he could have saved John or could have changed the events. He never could come up with anything feasible, his mind was always muddled with the emotions that the moment evoked.

_Why couldn’t it have been me?!_

Sherlock had processed this. If he had been the one jumping, he would have known before hand and would have found a way to survive, found a way to trick Moriarty.

What did it matter? Thinking like this wouldn’t change it. There was no button in life that lets you go back and change things. Sherlock had truly lost his doctor.


	3. Burning Hearts

_He was here! He was close._

Sherlock could almost smell Moriarty, could almost see his life flowing out of him in a red pool. It was somewhat of a premonition and Sherlock's body quivered in anticipation. The cool plastic of the gun pressed against his back seemed to vibrate with the knowledge of an incoming treat.

_Soon_

It had taken a few weeks after arriving in London to track down Jim but Sherlock knew that he would find the psycho. Without Mycroft or Lestrade's help he found the man. James Moriarty, consulting criminal, would die tonight and so would Sherlock. The warehouse Moriarty had chosen to die in was a cliché and Sherlock had almost snorted at the simplicity.

_How normal!_

Sherlock scoffed but he knew Moriarty better than that. James had finally accepted his death and was waiting for the noose. Sherlock would give into that pleasure and gladly make the man into a corpse.

Pushing deeper into the warehouse, Sherlock locked eyes on a lit room not far from him. Sherlock had expected a little more theatrics from Moriarty and was a little disappointed. James was an actor! Where was the flash, the dazzle? Shaking his head lightly, Sherlock cleared his mind. He wanted to relish in this victory he was about to fulfill.

_I've got him John._

Sherlock thought sadly wanting John's voice to appear. It didn't, the tall man let out a heavy sigh and walked the remaining feet into the lit room.

"Sherlock," James greeted looking haggard but excited.

Sherlock didn't speak as he stalked closer to his target. At last! Two long years! Here he was! The consulting criminal, the homicidal psychopath,

_The one who took John from me,_

"Are you still on about that?" Moriarty asked exasperated as if reading Sherlock’s thoughts, "It’s been two years, John's gone! Get over it!"

Sherlock wanted to draw the gun but refrained. He wasn't satisfied just yet. He didn't want to make it end too quickly.

"Have you finally accepted your fate?" The words slipped out of Sherlock's mouth.

James smirked "Fate? No I don't believe in fate but have I accepted you as Death? Then yes, playing hide and seek with you Sherlock has been fun but it’s grown boring." He examined his nails lazily.

Sherlock looked over the criminal and saw just how far Moriarty had fallen. Dirt, grim, and dried blood coated the expensive Westwood with little rips and tears. His hair disheveled and dark bruise like bags hung under his eyes. Deep wrinkles creased little spots on his face making him look older than the thirty plus years he actually was.

"You look terrible," Sherlock said with a dry chuckle, "If only your Sebastian could see you now."

It was a low hit but effective. James froze, his smile fell and a flicker of pain rushed through his body but disappeared quickly.

Sherlock had taken a lot of pleasure in ending Moriarty's best sniper, Sebastian Moran, who was also James's secret lover. The man's death had been the final straw in Moriarty and had led to this climax.

"Seb would appreciate your determination," James said slowly as a grin stretched across his face. "So Sherlock how do you like it?" Moriarty asked gesturing to the room.

Sherlock took the time to glance but the barren room was sad. "Not your usual style,"

James chuckled "Usual is boring. I wanted to keep you on your toes one last time. What a better place to die than in an unpredictable location, adds a little spice don't you think."

Sherlock didn't answer as he drew his gun.

Moriarty chuckled seeing the weapon, "That his?"

Again Sherlock didn't reply,

"Still hurts doesn't it? The knowing you missed out. That poor little sociopath Sherly truly did have a heart and it burned before his eyes," James's smiled widened, "What were his last words? I…love…you…” He drew each word out dramatically before continuing, “How poetic! Certainly my favorite thing your hedgehog ever said and how beautifully he flew, such vivid colors!" Moriarty stepped closer.

“The best part was the look on your face,” He whispered, “I have never seen such a broken look on a man, I almost felt bad but then again you didn’t listen.”

The words were bringing up the familiar flare of guilt Sherlock felt because James was right, it was his fault.

“I warned you and you persisted. Johnny warned you and you persisted. Look how it turned out, tonight we’ll both die and no one can fake that.”

Sherlock aimed the gun.

Moriarty pressed forward, pushing his forehead against the barrel. His eyes locked on Sherlock’s “This was a fantastic game Sherlock it was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

The smile on James’s face spoke volumes of something more but Sherlock couldn’t read it.

“Burning your heart, watching your pet fly, even seeing you squirm was an honor but in the end I still win!” Clearly expecting those to be the last words.

Sherlock stared at the man for a moment before shaking his head slowly, “You still think of this as a game James, even after all these years.” The shining eyes of the psychopath held triumph, “It was a game in the beginning but then you killed John and it became something more. At the end of this no one wins.” And with that he pulled the trigger.

Sherlock didn’t hear the gun go off, his ears were deafened by white noise but he watched in slow motion as the bullet created a new hole in Moriarty’s head. A spray of blood misted out as the bullet exited, the force of the shot pushed James’s body back. Eyes now vacant stared into Sherlock’s until the corpse collapsed at his feet. The tall man looked down at the body, blood pooling around the head.

Moriarty was dead. Truly dead, there was no doubt with the evidence at Sherlock’s feet. Staring at the body he felt nothing…absolutely nothing. Sherlock was empty, his only reason for living with now lifeless at his feet.

Without a thought Sherlock screamed, he screamed until the sound ripped his throat and he lost the ability to stand, falling to his knees. He wanted to feel a spark of life but even the agony of the noise did nothing for him.

John had been the only thing that had kept Sherlock alive and after his death it had been the drive to destroy Moriarty. Sherlock looked over the cooling body, the man that had been his greatest downfall, dead. Numbed Sherlock pulled the gun to his temple, “What better place,” He mumbled scanning the body once more preparing to pull the trigger.

A paper sticking out of Jim’s pocket stopped Sherlock. The brightness of the paper stuck out against the contrast of the blood and Sherlock was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. Looking to Moriarty’s vacant face, Sherlock knew this was the last thing the man had done. He wanted Sherlock to find this paper. Even in death James wouldn’t let the game end, not without his say.

Sherlock wanted to fight the curiosity but the paper was Moriarty’s final act and it was significant. Sighing the tall man lowered the gun as he reached for the paper not caring that blood was seeping through his pant legs. Snagging the paper Sherlock pushed himself to his feet.

It was a small folded piece of paper with his name on it. Sliding the gun back into the waist band of his trousers Sherlock unfolded the paper:

**Your heart still burns.**

The simple words glared at him and Sherlock blinked at them. This was the message Moriarty thought needed to be passed on after his death. These four short words that left so much mystery, what a joke. Sherlock snorted but continued to stare at the words. The vibrating of his phone distracted Sherlock for a moment. Without taking his eyes from the words he pulled out the phone.

There was a text from Moriarty. Sherlock glanced from the screen to the body at his feet.

_Must have had it timed to be sent._

Clicking the message open he found an address, so there was more to the words. The address was another warehouse not far from where he was at. Now he just had to decide if he wanted to postpone his suicide to go and see what James thought was important enough to pass on.

_Do you want to die without knowing?_

That voice! It was John’s, Sherlock nearly burst with the flare of emotion, the life he had been seeking.

_You wouldn’t want to leave before knowing._

The familiar voice of the doctor melted Sherlock he could almost smell John’s scent, leather, gun oil, and book paper. The scent so inviting and comforting Sherlock forgot about the world for a second.

_Go on Sherlock, go see._

The John voice encouraged and Sherlock longing to feel the warmth of the man’s hands touching him even with a brush of a finger. The touch didn’t come but Sherlock held a new determination to do as the voice said. Without another look at the corpse, Sherlock left the warehouse.

Everything was quiet not even the noise from distant cars could be heard. Sherlock strolled between the clusters of warehouses. The night was crisp with the coming winter and the sky was clear, shining brightly with millions of stars.

_Beautiful night to die,_

Sherlock thought sadly wishing John’s voice would speak again, but it didn’t. Sighing he pressed on for the warehouse. When he found it, Sherlock paused a moment to take it in. Compared to the others it was small, nearly twice the size than its neighbors.

Moving forward Sherlock found a door and kicked it open not bothering to even see if it was unlocked. The inside was dark and forced Sherlock to find the small torch that he kept on him for moments like these. Scanning the room with his light Sherlock noted the main room was split into two sections by a few short walls.

Going further inside Sherlock searched the first two rooms but they were empty. Finding a third door Sherlock tired it but found it was locked, that irritated him. Standing back from the door, Sherlock kicked. The door barely budged. Glaring at the wood, he tried again. The door moved a bit but didn’t open. Balling his fists, Sherlock kicked a third time sending the door flying from its hinges.

Walking inside the room Sherlock froze.

There was a man inside strapped to a vertical bedframe. The upper half of the man was shirtless, wires and tubes tangled around the man’s body. Old and new scars littered his chest but the face…the face was left unchanged. The familiar features filled Sherlock’s eyes.

“John?”


	4. Resurrection

“John.” Sherlock spoke again his voice echoing in the empty room.

The small doctor didn’t answer.

“John!” The force of the other man’s name exploded from Sherlock and a part of him broke free.

_It’s John!_

_John is dead!_

_It can’t be!_

_We saw…_

_We watched…_

_Dead!_

_Alive?_

Voice, upon voice swirled in a buzz through Sherlock’s mind as he tried to grip on to reality.

Was the doctor really here? Eyes fixed on the suspended man, Sherlock stepped closer until he could smell the sweat and blood on John. Reaching out Sherlock’s fingers brushed the warm skin of someone who was very much alive. Still uncertain Sherlock touched the exposed wrist and waited for the pulse he had searched for over two years ago.

There it was strong and beating.

How? How was this happening? How was this possible? Sherlock was fighting the urge to scream again. He had checked for a pulse, a pulse that wasn’t there but now it was!

“John,” Sherlock tired quietly reaching to touch the doctor’s slackened face.

John didn’t respond. He was breathing lightly as in sleep.

Sherlock’s eye drifted over the heart monitor strapped of the man and the I.V. that was slowly pumping a clear liquid into John’s vein. He wanted to pull John down but didn’t want to hurt him. Sherlock pulled out his phone instead and called the first number he could think of.

“Sherlock, where are you? What’s wrong?” the frantic voice of Lestrade greeted.

Sherlock grimaced, “Lestrade I need help,” He spoke his voice sounding grave and emotionless, “And I need an ambulance.”

“What?! Are you hurt? Where are you?” the D.I. shouted over the phone.

Fighting the rising anger and focusing on helping John, Sherlock kept himself calm “Warehouse five, hurry please.” He hung up, tossing the phone behind him.

Sherlock walked around the bed frame supporting the doctor, looking for some clues of something. He wasn't sure maybe something to tell him how John survived. Nothing stuck out and only John occupied the room so Sherlock moved to face the sleeping man.

He looked older more wrinkles, more grey laced through the blonde. Scanning down over the naked chest Sherlock winced, the scars were all over, crisscrossing making the skin looked scaly.

"John," Sherlock spoke gently touching the other man's face.

Whatever the doctor had in his system it had a tight hold. John continued to sleep without a hint of waking anytime soon.

Stroking the doctor's face for a moment Sherlock realized he felt scared. He was terrified that this was some sort of trick, something Moriarty had cooked up. Sherlock eyed the John before him. It looked like John in every way. The tall man had studied the doctor's face a thousand times, yet Sherlock still had doubts. Leaning forward and stretching up on his tippy toes Sherlock took a deep sniff of John's hair.

_Leather, gun oil, and book pages!_

Only John smelled like that, it was faint, and nearly faded but still very much John. 

Sherlock smiled. “John,” he whispered wishing the man would open his eyes.

Some minutes went by and Sherlock could do nothing but stare, keeping an eye on the slow rise and fall of John’s chest. What would happen when the doctor woke up? Would he be the same gentle and caring man or had the years with Moriarty robbed Sherlock of that man? Sherlock’s eyes drifted over the scars. What had Moriarty done to John? How had he broken the ex-soldier?

_How did John survive?_

That would the first question Sherlock would ask John. Molly had done his autopsy to confirm, had she gotten it wrong somehow? Sherlock shook his head Molly wasn’t as idiotic as most people and she knew John.

What had Moriarty done?

The swirling unanswered questions were frustrating so Sherlock locked his gaze on John’s face and settled into wait.

He didn’t have to wait more than five minutes before a squad of police officers from Scotland Yard burst into the room. When they announced the room with clear Lestrade marched inside followed by Mycroft. Seeing his brother trailing after the D.I. wasn’t a surprise to Sherlock. He knew they were sleeping together but he didn’t bother with that.

Lestrade froze when he saw John, his face contorting in stunned, surprised, and pained.

Mycroft wasn’t as visible with his shock by the doctor. He managed to keep his face a mask, narrowing his eyes when he directed them to Sherlock. Stalking around the statue that Lestrade had become, the eldest Holmes approached.

“What is this?” He scoffed, “Is this a trick, some morbid prank?” Mycroft usual calm domineer slipped as he spoke nearly spitting in rage, glancing at Lestrade with worry.

Sherlock didn’t take his eyes from John, “No.” He answered. Why would Sherlock do that? Who would even think he would do that? Trick people with something like this, no.

“Sherlock…” Lestrade breathed.

The anguish in the man’s voice startled Sherlock and made him look at the D.I.

Lestrade was staring at John in disbelief.

Moving from the unconscious man,Sherlock went to Lestrade and grasped his shoulders.

“Greg, where is the ambulance I ask for?” Sherlock asked but the D.I. blinked at him slowly, “Lestrade!” He snapped Greg jerked before focusing on Sherlock, “Ambulance?” the taller man repeated.

“The team is standing by outside,” Lestrade answered quietly his eyes going back to John.

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft for help but the older Holmes was examining John. Sighing the consulting detective decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Greg, listen to me,” Sherlock said grabbing the other man’s attention, “Go get them so we can get John to a hospital.” He instructed.

“Hospital?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock resisted the urge to strike the D.I. “Yes, John needs a doctor.” He told Greg gently.

The detective just stared and Mycroft decided at that moment to approach, “Come dear,” The elder Holmes coaxed tugging gently on Greg’s arm. It took a few light tugs before the two were out of the room.

Sherlock faced the unconscious doctor and waited.

Within minutes people bustled into the room and began working on pulling John from the bed frame. Paramedics stood by until the doctor was lowered on to a gurney, they then rushed forward checking vitals and looking over the man’s scarred body.

Sherlock followed as John was wheeled out of the warehouse into a nearby ambulance. Without a word the detective climbed into the back. He spotted Lestrade and Mycroft watching from a car.

The elder Holmes was whispering into the D.I.’s ear but Lestrade didn’t seem to be paying attention as his eyes locked on the still form of John. The ambulance doors were snapped closed, blocking their view and it began to speed away.

Sherlock turned his eyes to John, glancing at the paramedic’s as they constantly checked the man over.

“Who would do something like this?” one of the paramedic’s asked gingerly touching a few of the scars striped across John’s chest.

“A monster,” Sherlock breathed.

His hate for Moriarty had vanished. The man had ruined everything and had taken John from Sherlock, making him the monster but the same man had returned the doctor. Why? Why had James, who had gone through so much trouble in destroying Sherlock, grant the only wish the consulting detective had ever had? Moriarty had known he was teetering over the edge of Hell’s gates but his last act was to resurrect John? It perplexed Sherlock.

Shaking his head, Sherlock forced those thoughts back. There was plenty of time for pondering, at the moment he needed to focus on John.

At that moment as if on cue a low moan came from the doctor, everyone in the ambulance froze. Sherlock held his breath, staring at his friend.

Slowly John’s eye lids twitched before opening. Dark blue irises peaked between the lashes. The lids slid further open revealing more of the familiar storm color beneath. Sherlock slowly released his breath, leaning in. John’s eyes drifted over to him but they were unfocused.

“John,” Sherlock whispered reaching out a shaking hand. Slowly his fingers stroked the greying blonde and the doctor’s eyes started to focus. “Can you hear me?”

John’s lips parted slightly as he blinked at Sherlock. Moments dragged by and the two stared at each other. Sherlock stroked slowly, drawing the strands through his fingers. John’s eyes flashed with recognition and a small smile creased his mouth.

“Sher…lock…”

His name was drawn out and sounded weak from a voice that was clearly underused but it was music. Sherlock felt hot tears running down his face and a smile formed. His John was here! His John was alive!

Suddenly the machines started beeping hysterically and John’s eyes rolled back showing white, his body began convulsing. Startled, Sherlock couldn’t move until a paramedic pulled him back.

“He’s going into shock!” One of them shouted and an oxygen mask was forced over the doctor’s contorted face. They then rolled him on to his side but nothing else was done.

Even in all the madness Sherlock understood John was going through a shock induced seizure and there wasn’t much the paramedics could do until it passed. It was in that moment the ambulance pulled into the hospital, the doors were thrown open and the gurney was pulled out.

People rushed from the doors and raced John from the ambulance towards the hospital. Sherlock could barely keep up, thankfully his long legs helped. The group headed for the elevator and he slipped in. The paramedics were rattling off and the doctors listened intently as nurses fussed over John’s still seizing form.

As soon as the lift’s doors opened the people spilled from it running for the I.C.U. A nurse broke from the crowd and stepped in front of Sherlock. The taller man skidded to a stop, watching as John disappeared between the swing double doors.

“I’m sorry sir but you can’t go back there.” The nurse spoke sternly but Sherlock ignored her, stepped around, and stalking for the doors.

The nurse ran after him “Sir! Sir you can’t go back there!” She shouted.

Sherlock spun to face her, “I WILL NOT LEAVE HIM ALONE AGAIN!” He roared.

The woman fell back, her eyes wide and fearful. When she didn’t move or speak, Sherlock turned away from her and preceded through the double doors.

It was easy to find where they had taken John as people rushed to the room. Sherlock couldn’t get into the room that was packed with doctors but he could watch from the window. It was hard to see John amongst the writhing bodies but what Sherlock could see was a relief.

John was no longer convulsing and lay still in the bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest was a good sign. Tubes and wires were strapped to his arms and a hospital gown was in the process of being tied on.

“Sir,” A voice called.

Sherlock turned a glare to the speaker daring them to try and force him from John.

The woman took the glare being older and used to the unwillingness of visitors, “He’s going to be fine.” She told him. Sherlock blinked slowly at her, “His system is in shock at the moment. It seems he was on some powerful drugs for a while and he will be going through some violent withdrawal in the next few days. We’ve taken a sample of blood from him and we’ll have it tested to find out what exactly he had but right now all we can do is wait”

Sherlock frowned. All he could was wait…wait…That’s the only thing he had been doing for the past two years. Glancing over at John, he saw that most of the room had cleared.

“I won’t leave him.” Sherlock told the nurse, she only nodded. Moving passed her and over to John’s side.


	5. Waking Dreams

John remembered falling, it was the only dream he ever remembered. It wasn't a good dream or a bad dream, it just was. It was the only dream he ever had and it always started the same.

Always on the same roof, he didn't remember the building just the roof. The place felt familiar and brought on a feeling of falling that always left him breathless. He knew it was a tall building whenever he stood on the edge and looked down the distance stretched and spun as if the world wanted him to fall.

And there was always that voice, his voice.

"Fly little hedgehog, fly!"

John didn't remember the man's name or his face just the sing song of his voice. When he looked around there was no one but the phantom voice always came.

It was then John would look down on the street. It was empty at first. It always started out empty. Then a man would appear, a faceless man but at that distance everyone was faceless. To John the man was a distant dot clad in black.

"I love you."

Those words echoed around him and then he was falling. John felt the air speeding past him as he headed for the ground and heard the scream from the faceless man.

"JOHN!"

The sound was anguish and true suffering but he felt nothing for the man's pain.   

Blackness over took him and John fell into white noise. The static repetition was a warm cocoon until the darkness was ripped away.

Dream John always woke up gasping with pain radiating from everywhere and the sing song voice would speak:

"Lovely little hedgehog awake and not dead. His heart still beats and I hold it in my hands."

If it was poetry it was terrible but dream John always felt panic and confusion. Every cell in his body screamed at him that he was dead but the painful intake of oxygen told him otherwise. Dead men don't breath.

Blurred visions of figures moving around him appeared weaving in and out of clarity but all still unknown.

John always found a way to speak:

"How?"

It was the one word he could manage that was so general it could be answered with anything but the sing song man always knew the bigger question.

"Because I wanted to."

To John it answered a lot of questions while creating more. The sing song man wanted John alive so he made it so but why? For what reason? The man wanted someone or multiple someone's to think John was dead but again why?

Dream John would quickly become tired of the back and forth so he would wait for the dream to change. He didn't have to wait long.

Suddenly he was spinning and it always surprised him no matter how many times he had the dream. Voices began speaking adding on to each other before hundreds of incoherent words meddle into a harsh buzz.

At that point John felt like he was drowning. He felt the wet, cool water wash over him slowly rising around his body. The voices became muffled almost silenced by the water around his ears.

Then came the pain, it only came when John neared consciousness. Long, deep agony that stretched over his chest or over his back while someone spoke most of the time it was the sing song man other times it was a woman. The excoriating pain always forced his mind to go blank.

But this time it was different. When the fog of the dream started to drift no pain came, no sing song man just the low moan of his own voice. John couldn't remember the last time he heard his voice it was unfamiliar and sounded weak.

The distant sounds of machines and breathing came to him and it was confusing. John couldn't remember the last time he was so clear and it scared him.

Emboldened by the sensation John opened his eyes. A multitude of colors assaulted his underused eyes and it was nearing painful but John didn't want the darkness anymore and forced his eyes to adjust.

"John,"

There was that voice. Not the sing song man but the faceless one. Cool hands started stroking his hair and the touch was welcomed it anchored John to the moment and things began to clear. Straining John turned his eyes to a blurred face that was hovering overhead. The faceless features slowly morphed into a face, a man's face. For a moment it was unfamiliar but suddenly his name flew to John's mind.

"Sher...lock..."

That was it, Sherlock! John knew him and that's when memories started attacking. Images and voices swirled together. John felt nauseous and he couldn't follow the on slaughter of thoughts. Everything was moving too fast, it was a swirling vortex of information and John’s mind was going into overload.

The machines nearby starting beeping loudly and pain washed through John. It was a white hot agony that didn’t slow the flow of memoires that were pouring over him. A life time of moments filled John but none were clear, there were too many. He teetered over the edge of nothingness, fighting to remain conscious but the overwhelming sensation forced him into darkness.

John’s ears were still tuned into what was going on around him. People talking while sounding urgent assaulted his hearing like the memories there were too many voices to make out any words. John wanted to open his eyes again wanted to see the face of Sherlock but his body was unwilling.

Suddenly the voices were gone, the swirling attack of memories was gone, the silence was a bit eerie and John strained to hear something, anything! Machines and quiet beeps near his head came first, the slight noise started to loll him towards sleep but John shock off the black veil seeking more noise, a human noise.

_Did Sherlock leave me?_

“I won’t leave him…”

The words were so quiet John almost missed them. They came from Sherlock’s baritone and they were close. John wanted to open his eyes but his body was winning in taking him back in full unconsciousness. Without another thought John was reclaimed by the darkness.


	6. Waiting

Sherlock watched over John without moving a muscle. He wouldn’t allow his eyes to leave the doctor’s face even when they had begun to sting for being open too long. Sherlock didn’t know what times it was or how long he had been in the hospital and he really didn’t care.

His mind had been wandering over the hours, spending most of the time in his mind palace rearranging it. The comings and goings of doctors and nurses was ignored and it wasn’t until Lestrade and Mycroft showed up that Sherlock fully acknowledged someone.

A few minutes after the D.I. entered the room is when Sherlock became aware of the lingering presences. Blinking several times he turned and spotted Lestrade hovering in the door way with Mycroft slightly behind.

Greg looked absolutely terrible. Dark purple bags rimmed his blood-shot eyes. A horrid, scraggly five-o’clock shadow covered his face and his hair stuck up at all angles. Lestrade’s clothes were no better. The once pressed suit he wore was now in shambles. Various stains covered the dull white shirt that had come untucked from the D.I.’s trousers. Mud and other substances darkened the grey of a majority of the suit.

Greg was frozen in the door eyes fixed on John’s unmoving form.

Sherlock stood as he turned his eyes on his brother and gestured towards the now vacant chair.

Mycroft seemed to get the message as he squeezed around Lestrade. “Come my dear, let’s get you settled.” He mumbled gently grasping Greg’s upper arm and guiding him forward.

The D.I. didn’t struggle and allowed himself to be directed. He sat willingly and even leaned forward to grip John’s slackened hand.

Sherlock and Mycroft paused to overlook the scene before them. The elder Holmes looked to his brother and wordlessly nodded towards the door and went that way.

Sherlock followed glancing over his shoulder to the two behind him feeling slightly worried in leaving John.

Once in the hall Mycroft stopped a few feet from the room but they were still able to see John on the bed from the observation window. Sherlock noted the lack of activity in the hall and deduced it was the early hours of the morning.

“How is he?” Mycroft asked looking nervously at John.

Sherlock sighed, “I am told he has been heavily drugged for some time and he is likely to make a full recovery. When we arrived they sent out for a blood test to know what exactly he had in his system. He woke briefly during the ambulance ride,”

Mycroft gave a small smile when he heard that.

“His body then went into shock and caused a seizure.”

The smile was now gone but Sherlock continued, struggling with every word.

“So far he hasn’t woken completely and I was warned he’ll be going through withdrawals…” His voice failed him and he breathed in sharply to keep his brimming tears at bay.

Mycroft shifted closer to his brother seeming in hopes that his presences will bring a bit of comfort. “How did you find John?” The elder Holmes asked.

Sherlock pulled Moriarty’s note from his pocket, “I killed Moriarty earlier.” He whispered, holding the paper out.

Mycroft stiffened and stared wide eyed before forcing his hand to grab the paper. “Your heart still burns?” He read, giving his brother a curious look. 

“I pulled that note from Moriarty’s pocket after I killed him then a text message arrived on my phone giving me the address to the warehouse.” Sherlock finished, deliberately leaving out the suicide part.

Mycroft may try to deny sentiment but when it came to Sherlock…he was a sentimental fool and him knowing what the younger Holmes had been planning would have been a disaster. Sherlock wouldn’t live it down if Mycroft knew.

“How is this happening?” The elder Holmes asked his voice was quiet and uncertain. In a way it was almost childlike and surprised the younger brother. He had never heard Mycroft sound so human.

Sherlock looked hard at his brother, “I don’t know but I intend to find out.”

“And how do you plan to do that brother mine, you killed the only one who had the answers?”  

“Not the only one, brother."

Mycroft gaze settled on the unconscious man, “You think he will have the answers?”

“Indeed I do,” Sherlock said as he started back to John’s room, “John Watson is the man with the answers.”

When the two brothers reentered the room, Lestrade looking much better, turned and eyed them. “I touched his hand and the heart monitor jumped.” He happily said, adding a small smile.

Sherlock managed a smile on the D.I.’s behalf and even saw Mycroft’s mouth twitch. Strolling closer Sherlock planting his hands on Greg’s shoulders and looked at John, “I think you may have helped in the healing process.”

Lestrade chuckled shaking the younger’s man hands from him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He said, breaking out with a loud yawn.

“Greg, why don’t you let Mycroft take you home? You’ve had a long day and I’ll be here for John.” Sherlock suggested getting a protesting look from the D.I. “Don’t worry I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Reluctantly Lestrade slowly stood, “What about Moriarty, should we be worried about him?”

The question was so sudden that Sherlock barely held back a gasp luckily Mycroft was much more aware.

“Don’t worry about that my dear. We have people watching, nothing will happen to the good doctor.”

Greg was satisfied with that answer and made his way to the awaiting arms of the eldest Holmes. He wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s waist and settled his head on the other man’s shoulder.

“Do get some sleep brother.” Mycroft threw over his shoulder as the two left the room.

Sherlock watched them go, having no intention of sleeping whilst John was. Settling back into his chair the younger man took up the hand Greg had left, stroking the slightly darker skin and looked to the doctor’s face.

John’s eyes twitched rhythmically behind his closed lids. The heart monitor continued relying the regular heart beat with no sign of the man waking. The repetition of the fans from the machines and the quiet beeps from the monitor Sherlock felt himself starting to doze.

“No.” He snapped.

He won’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep not when he had to watch John. Sherlock was afraid that if closed his eyes, he would wake up and everything that had happen wasn’t real. That it was a trick of his mind. Sherlock couldn’t go through that, he didn’t want to lose John all over again. It was a ridiculous notion but the younger man couldn’t bring himself to believe otherwise.

Tightening his hold on John’s hand Sherlock ducked his head to kiss the soft flesh. “Where are you John?” he asked laying his cheek on the back of the other man’s hand and looking up at his face.

Sherlock didn’t mean to. He really didn’t, one minute he’s looking at John in the hospital bed the next he was startled awake by people frantically shouting. For a moment Sherlock is disoriented and can’t remember where he is. People are talking to him and around him, making it that much harder to focus.

“Would everyone just shut up?” He grumbled running a hand through his hair.

The voices didn’t cease but that weren’t directed at him anymore.

Sherlock stretched his arms and twisted his back to get a satisfying pop before he was truly awake. His eyes went straight for John.

But John wasn’t on the bed anymore. The crisp white hospital sheets were empty!

Sherlock shot from his seat, “Where is he?” He hissed at the nearest doctor, grabbing the man by the shirt.

The doctor looked terrified but remained calm as he answered, “That’s what we’re trying to figure out Mr. Holmes.”

Throwing the doctor from him, Sherlock turned to the bed and stalked closer.

John had woken and left the room, somehow without waking the younger man in the process. Touching the sheets, Sherlock noted they were nearing room temperature. So John had left sometime in the last thirty minutes or so. Sherlock hoped the doctor hadn’t left the hospital, something told him he hadn’t and a thought sprung to mind.

In the entire world where would John go if he were stuck in this hospital, this particular hospital?

Without telling anyone Sherlock darted from the room  heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time forcing his body to move faster.  He needed to go down a floor, that’s where it was.

Once on the floor, Sherlock sprinted through the halls. He ignored the angry shouts of people he’d nearly run into, looking for the exact room. It wasn’t hard to find. Sherlock didn’t spare a second before opening the door.

“John!” He shouted looking around the room.

It was the lab where they had met. The first time they had interacted but he wasn’t here. John wasn’t in the lab and Sherlock heart sank. If the little doctor wasn’t here, there was only one other place he could be.

Racing from the room Sherlock headed back for the stairs as a pain radiated through him. He felt like he was on fire and it wasn’t just from running. This pain was something more, it was dread. Once again on the stairs Sherlock started going up.

He was all the way up.

Sherlock grabbed the roof access door and wasn’t surprised it wasn’t locked though he was mildly surprised to find it had been picked not forced. Pushing it open he scanned the area and froze when his eyes found John.

The small army doctor had his back to Sherlock the sun silhouetted his form making him a dark shadow. A slight cold breeze played with the doctor's hospital gown as he stood on the edge of the roof in the exact spot he had jumped from two years prior.


	7. Triggers

Sherlock’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he looked at John before him. The doctor was teetering on the buildings edge and he seemed to be muttering quietly to himself. Forcing himself to move, Sherlock drew closer not wanting to startle John. As he got nearer a few words were heard from the doctor:

“Flying hedgehog…silly little otter… Daddy, please…”

“John.” Sherlock called softly.

The doctor stiffened before looking back. The look in his eyes was something Sherlock had never seen. They were wild and unfocused, John’s whole body fidgeted.

Seeing him, John’s face became a wide smile before a loud hysterical laugh broke out. The small body turned complete towards Sherlock but the man didn’t leave the roofs edge.

“There you are!” John shouted throwing his hands at Sherlock, “I knew you would come.”

“Yes John, I am here, now come from there.” Sherlock tried forcing a smile to encourage his friend and holding out a hand towards him.

John frowned and even glared, folding his arms over his chest. “But I like it here,” His voice whined taking on the characteristics of a child, with that John turned back to look down over the side, “This is where it happened.”

Sherlock froze when those words floated to him.

“This is where the hedgehog learned to fly!” John spoke happily moving back to face Sherlock, “This is where the story ended.”

Sherlock stared hard at John. The doctor was a completely different person. The man’s face held no trace of the beloved ex-solider.

“Have you heard the story?” John asked taking a few step along the edge using his arms for balance.

Sherlock tensed fighting the urge to run and grab John, “Can’t say I have.” He replied his voice shaking with the effort.

John didn’t seem to notice, “I love the story! Daddy always did voices for the characters!” He then giggled.

Sherlock took in a shaky breath, clenching his fists. “Can you tell me?” He needed to keep John talking, keep him distracted.

John stopped his movement and eyed Sherlock slowly, “Daddy tells it better.” He said but seemed to be considering, “Fine I’ll tell it but you better not laugh.” John warned giving Sherlock a stern glare to reinforce it.

Sherlock nodded, “I promise I won’t laugh.” He felt the furthest from a need to laugh than ever.

John being so close to death was taking its toll and Sherlock was breaking. He had just gotten the man back and it looked like he was about to lose him again. Moriarty had done something, he had somehow changed John.

“Daddy loves telling this!” John said clapping his hands excitedly before becoming serious and leaning towards the nervous man, “When Daddy was little there was a mean bully named Carl.”

Sherlock held his breath.         

“Carl was an evil little troll. He was green and covered in warts who had a lucky pair of shoes that he took everywhere with him.” John wrinkled up with face looking disgusted, “Everyday Carl would come to Daddy. He would push and hit Daddy but no one believed Daddy, no one did anything to help Daddy so Daddy decided he would do something himself. Daddy found a magic potion that he gave to Carl, Carl drowned, and Daddy took Carl’s shoes.” John giggled.

Sherlock winced slightly but kept his face as blank as possible.

“I love Daddy’s stories! Do you want to hear more?”

“Yes I would,” Sherlock answered. He was trying to figure something out to get John off the edge, away from danger, “Could you come closer I can’t hear every well?” Sherlock asked.

John glared, “You come closer.” He snapped folding his arms over his chest once more.

Slowly Sherlock moved closer until he was some feet from the other man, “John did Mori…”

“Hush now I’m telling a story!” John yelled interrupting Sherlock, “Faceless Man doesn’t get to talk when I am!”

Sherlock blinked in confusion, faceless man?

John held an intense glare before his face relaxed and he smiled. It was an almost old John smile and Sherlock breath hitched.

“Now this part Daddy said is my part, his little hedgehog,” The fond look in John’s eyes was sickening, “Once there was a beautiful and intelligent otter with a blue scarf. Daddy loved to play with the otter, he would set up games for the otter and they had such fun together. One day the otter broke the rules and changed the game. Daddy didn’t like that so he gave the otter one more chance.”

Sherlock didn’t remember how to breathe. The words coming out of John’s mouth were Moriarty’s. The childlike person that had become John was James back from the dead, possessing the doctor like a puppet.

“For a while the otter followed the rules and didn’t cause any trouble but that didn’t last long. Again the otter broke the rules so Daddy decided the otter needed to be punished.” John’s voice became a whisper, “The lovely little otter had a pet, a brave hedgehog. Daddy took the hedgehog and brought him here.” He gestured to the roof, “And Daddy taught the hedgehog how to fly.”

Sherlock stomach lurched as John swayed backwards. He didn’t fall, a moment before it seemed like he would slip off the edge the doctor righted himself grinning. The grin melted and became a pout.

“I miss Daddy,” John whined, “Do you know when he is coming back?”

Sherlock struggled for words, something that would keep John calm. “What did Daddy tell you the last time you saw him?” he asked.

John skewered up his face as he thought, it took a moment before he replied “He said the otter is coming for his hedgehog.” Then his eyes widened and he leaned towards Sherlock looking awed, “You’re the otter!” he cried gesturing dramatically at the younger man.

Sherlock forced a smile, “Yes I am the otter, John can you tell me about Daddy?”

“I love Daddy, he’s nice to me, and he helps me get better when…” John stopped, his mouth hung open and he looked suddenly terrified.

Sherlock stepped closer within reaching distance but keeping his arms to his side, “When what John?” he pressed.

John shut his mouth and looked down at the other man, “I’m not allowed to say.” He replied looking around.

Sherlock moved even closer, “John what has Moriarty done to you?”

John blinked a few times then started to collapse. Sherlock reacted faster than he ever had, gripping John tightly before he could fall. Pulling the doctor from the edge the detective stumbled backwards with his arms wrapped around the other man.

“I got you. It’s going to be alright. I’m here, nothing is going to happen.” Sherlock was muttering quietly as he fell to the ground with John on top of him.

They lay there breathing hard for several minutes.

John groaned lifting his head slowly and squinted at Sherlock in confusion. “Sherlock?” The doctor’s warm voice was back as if the child had never been.

The tall man almost started crying but somehow managed to keep control of himself. “John.”

“What’s going on, where am I?”

Sherlock loosed his grip on the doctor a bit, “The roof of St. Bart’s.”

The doctor stiffened as he glanced around, “Why, what are we doing here?”

“Let’s get you back inside.” Sherlock said as he got to his feet and helped John stand.

The doctor was shaking and sagged into the taller man for support. “I feel like I got hit by a train.” John grumbled running a hand through his hair.

“What do you remember John?” Sherlock couldn’t help but ask.

The short doctor grunted as they began walking for the stairs, “Sherlock, why am I in a hospital gown?” John asked stopping.

“Let’s get you inside and I’ll explain everything,”

_Or try to._

Sherlock didn’t see how his insight would clear up any of John’s questions. The priority was getting the man inside and out of the cold that the early winter was bringing.

“Sherlock.” John’s voice had a hint of the captain in it and it sent a pulse through Sherlock’s body.

“Inside first.” The tall man insisted tugging the weak man forward.

Glaring, John reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled inside. The warmth rushed in and Sherlock realized that he was freezing. The fear from John’s strange behavior had warded off the chill but now with the adrenaline gone, Sherlock’s body shook from the cold.

“John,” Sherlock steadied himself, “What is the last thing you remember?”

John’s movements were slow as he thought. “You,” Sherlock looked at him in surprise, “Well your voice, you were calling my name.”

Sherlock blinked before frowning.

“I can’t remember much, it took me a while to even remember you. Everything is blurry and I couldn’t focus.” The doctor continued, “I could hear voices and there was always pain…every time I would wake up there was pain.” John fell silent.

Sherlock let his friend have that silence as they walked towards the elevator. He spotted doctors heading their way but a wave of his hand stopped them. On the lift the taller man leaned against the wall and wrapped his other arm around John and pulled him closer. The elevator slowly started downward as the two clung together.

“Why…am…I…so…cold?” John’s voice chattered.

Sherlock rubbed the doctor’s back, “You were on the roof a while but I suspect your body is starting to go through withdrawals.”

John lifted his head from the younger man’s chest, “Withdrawals?”

“Bed first.” Sherlock said lightly still trying to keep their conversation at bay.

The doctor didn’t argue and settled back into Sherlock’s chest, shivering.

The lift’s doors opened and Sherlock slowly untangled himself enough to get John supported to walk. They had a few more feet to walk before finally making it back to John’s room. Sherlock helped the doctor back into bed. A nurse bustled in and reattached the machines, otherwise they were left alone.

John blinked tiredly, “What am I doing in a hospital?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I am fine Sherlock, what am I doing in a hospital?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Sherlock…”

“Water?”

“Sherlock…”

“Are you in any pain?”

“Sherlock!” John snapped, “Stop changing the subject.”

Sherlock sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his eyes closed.

He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know when to start. Over two years of living with this man’s supposed suicide and Sherlock didn’t know how to speak to him. The genius had fantasied their reunion thousands of times but instantly berated himself for being foolish. Now the impossible had presented itself and he was at a loss for words.

“Sherlock…” John’s voice was quiet and gentle.

Taking in a deep breath Sherlock opened his eyes. John was smiling softly and holding out a hand. Slowly the tall man slid forward and gripped the flesh, intertwining their fingers. The connection was electric and he felt instantly better. John was here and he was alive.

“I remember falling…” John spoke, “I remember saying I love you and jumping.” The smile was gone and there was pain in his eyes.

Sherlock squeezed the doctor’s hand. The words stung but it was a blessing that he wouldn’t have to relive that moment by retelling it. Breathing out slowly Sherlock locked eyes with his friend.

“Two years John, it’s been two years.”

John’s face paled and his grip on Sherlock’s hand tightened. The pain in his eyes intensified, “Oh God.”

“I thought you were dead for two years…” Sherlock told him, “I watched you jump from the roof. I saw your blood on the concrete. I felt for your pulse…it wasn’t there…John…” He couldn’t look away from the deep blue staring back at him, “You were dead.”

John pulled Sherlock forward with their linked hands. The tall man laid his head in the doctor’s lap and felt fingers gliding through his hair. The fingers weren’t there long but when they were pulled away John replaced them with his own head.

“I thought I was dead too. I remember hitting the ground and after that nothing. Suddenly I was alive but in lots of pain. I was told that the building hadn’t been quit high enough to kill me. I spent three months recovering from broken ribs and a fractured skull. One day something changed and then darkness until I woke in the ambulance with you.” John’s voice was soft, almost comforting.

“You need sleep.” Sherlock mumbled. John stiffened and sat up. Concerned the younger man sat up as well and looked to the doctor.

John looked terrified. “I don’t want the darkness again.” His voice hitched with strained emotions.

Sherlock moved to settle on the bed next to John. He wrapped his lanky limbs around the smaller man and pulled him into his chest. John nestled into Sherlock’s chest, inhaling deeply.

“I’ll be here. I won’t leave you…never again…” Sherlock assured.

It was strange being the comforting shoulder but for John, Sherlock would do anything. He didn’t feel the usual repulsion he got when it came to physical contact or emotions, not with John, never with John. With the small doctor nearby, Sherlock finally found the peace he had been searching for, the peace he had before but never realized it.

His thoughts drifted back to the roof incident. The memory sent a shiver through him. John had been acting boarder line insane but had suddenly switched to the John he knew and loved.

_Brain washed?_

It seemed to be the only possible answer Moriarty had brain washed John using pain and drugs. James had created an alternated personality in John that was a naïve child. But what had been the trigger, there had to be a trigger word of some kind.

Slight snoring against his chest told Sherlock that John had lost the fight in staying conscious. Smiling as the warmth of the other man began to sink in, Sherlock felt his body relax complete for the first time in two years. Ducking his head forward Sherlock planted a kiss on John’s head.

“Sleep well my John.” The tall man mumbled into the doctor’s hair.

Laying back into the pillows, Sherlock tightened his hold on John and closed his eyes, following the good doctor into unconsciousness.


	8. Not John

Mycroft stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector was passed out in the middle of the bed. The lovely grey fox like hair on his head was twisted and plastered in various ways on his head.  His face was slackened and took ten years from him, not that he looked old in the first place.

The elder Holmes felt his affection tighten in his chest.

Gregory had taken John’s death pretty hard and Sherlock’s reckless mission had done little to help the D.I. Mycroft had taken the reins in putting Lestrade’s life back together and had found something more. Gregory had become steadily closer until they had meshed as lovers and now Mycroft couldn’t imagine his life without the man.

John’s sudden reappearance was, for lack of a better word, a shock.  His broken body on the pavement had been the most damning evidence yet here he was. The good doctor had been thrown back into their lives and Mycroft had nearly watched the Detective crumble once more because of it. The visit to the hospital had solidified reality and Gregory was a brighter side of himself, one that Mycroft hadn’t seen in a while.

Mycroft was at a loss for this resurrection. He had witnessed the autopsy, he had signed off on the paperwork, and he had even done everything for the funeral. The only thing that made sense would be that the man that Sherlock found was not John at all. Blood work would make that conclusion but it would be several days before that evidence came to light.

The ringing of his cell phone tore Mycroft from his musings.

“Holmes.” He answered he had been expecting this call.

“Cleanup is finished sir but…” the voice on the line paused seeming to be debating whether to relay some information.

“What?” Mycroft snapped hiding the twinge of fear.

“There is no body sir, there’s blood.”

“Excuse me?” He had heard but he needed to hear the words again.

“There is no body.” The person repeated.

“You searched the area?” Mycroft asked his mind whirling.

“Of course sir, twice.”

“Well do _it_ again, you must find that body.” The command was undeniable and left no room to argue.

“Right away sir.” With a soft click the line went dead.

Mycroft slipped the phone into his pocket. Things had just gone further towards worse. Moriarty’s body was missing and Mycroft doubted any amount of searching would turn it up. Someone had moved it.

_Who would that be?_

To Mycroft’s knowledge, Sherlock had destroyed any remains of Moriarty’s web over the course of the two years, leaving James as the last. Though the elder Holmes knew that there was no way to eradicate all the assets and there would always be those few who would remain loyal.

Moriarty had planned his death; he had allowed Sherlock that pleasure. As his last act he had returned John so it seemed less of a coincidence that his body just went missing. It was all planned.

Mycroft fought off the feeling that this was just the beginning; that John, or not John, was just a stepping stone towards something more. He had no doubt in his mind that it had to do with Sherlock and that his little brother was in danger. Mycroft also knew that any accusation he brought against John would be ignored and would make it more difficult for him to keep Sherlock safe. So for now he would keep his suspicions quiet and watch from the shadows as always.

“My?”

Gregory’s soft voice broke through Mycroft’s scheming. His vision cleared of thought and he looked to his lover.

The D.I. had rolled on to his side and was facing Mycroft with a small tired smile, “Any news?”

Moving to the bed, Mycroft sat on the edge. He pushed hair from Gregory’s forehead and planted a light kiss. “No, nothing I’ve heard.” The D.I.’s face fell, “But no news is good news, isn’t it?”

Gregory gave a heavy sigh in response sliding a hand forward to grip Mycroft’s thigh. “I just want him to be alright.” He whispered stroking his thumb over the covered skin.

Mycroft tried to ignore the sparks dancing through his system from the light contact but Gregory caused such a reaction it was impossible.

“I know my dear,” the elder Holmes murmured, “As do I.” It was true, he did want John to be alright but everything he knew pointed towards the opposite.

“Has there been any word on Moriarty?” Gregory asked.

Mycroft hadn’t told Lestrade, Sherlock’s confession and didn’t plan on it. “No my dear, I have agents searching but they have come up with nothing.” It was partially true so Mycroft didn’t feel too bad lying.

“Why would he do this, after two years, why now?” Gregory asked.

“I have asked that question myself,” Mycroft said, “Sherlock may have been getting too close for comfort.”

Gregory sat up, leaning into Mycroft. “How is John alive?”

The elder man bit the inside of his cheek debating what he should say. A moment passed before he decided.

“Are we sure he is John?” As soon as the words were out Mycroft knew he had chosen poorly.

Lestrade was silent, staring hard at the other man with a blank look. It was one of the few moments Mycroft could not read his lover and that was a sign that he had spoken wrong.

“Gregory, think for a moment, I handled all of John’s affairs after his passing. I identified his body at the morgue and have blood results to prove it was John. I finalized his funeral. I saw John’s body many times before his burial.” He spoke quietly.

The D.I. moved from Mycroft and stood in front of him. His face slowly contorting with pent disbelief. “Two years Mycroft.” The words low and threatening, “Two years he’s been dead and the moment he is returned to us you think it’s an imposter! You think that somehow Moriarty found a man who looks exactly like John and set him up so we would find him, for what, or some sort of after death _revenge_?”

Mycroft flinched at the words. He had never been one to be intimidated but Lestrade had a power over him especially when the D.I. was angry. He opened his mouth but Gregory was in a rant.

“It’s a miracle and the only thing you can come up with to try and ruin the moment is: it’s not John! You would rather John be dead then for the truth!”

“No…” Mycroft tried but Lestrade wasn’t listening.

“I nearly died when my best friend jumped from a building. I nearly died again when I saw him alive and you want to spoil the moment by telling me that it’s not John!”

“I’m just looking at the facts.”

“Facts? The facts are that John is alive, that there is no way on this Earth that it is not John!” Gregory spun and stomped for the door.

Mycroft stood and followed, “Gregory…I.” He tried but the D.I. spun back to him with a burning glare silencing him.

“No! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know, I just…I…just want John to be alright. He needs to be alright. I need him to be alright” The last words were a plea and Mycroft watched the anger flee, leaving uncertainty.

Letting a minute drift by the elder Holmes stepped forward and slowly eased his hands on to the other man’s hips. “Gregory, you must know that that is all I wish for as well but…in light of the evidence…and my firsthand experience in that evidence…I cannot just ignore what I see…what I know. I want that man in the hospital to be John Watson but I cannot believe that it is until I get his blood results back.”

Gregory shut his eyes and leaned into his lover, snuggling his head in the crook of Mycroft’s neck. Automatically Mycroft’s hands stroked down the other man’s back.

“My dear all I want most in the world is for you to be happy.”  The elder man murmured, “But I can’t just let what I see as facts go.”

Gregory drew his head back, “I understand, I do but I feel it is John. I know that sounds strange but I know it is him.” He sighed laying his head back on the other’s man’s shoulder, “I’m sorry for my outburst.”

Mycroft squeezed his lover to him, “Nothing to apologize for my dear, I assure you.” He said enjoying the steady warmth seeping into him.

“Can we go back to the hospital?” Gregory asked, “It’s been at least five hours something must have happened.”

Mycroft hummed in disapproval, “I would insist you get more rest but I doubt you will listen to me.” Lestrade chuckled lifting his head to plant a lingering kiss on the other man’s mouth before trailing down his long neck.

“You know me so well.” Gregory said between kisses.

Mycroft was shaking with withheld encouragement. “If you continue to do that we will not make it out of this house for another few hours.” He said with effort, his fingers digging into his lover’s back slightly.

Lestrade laughed as he moved back from the other man, letting his hand slid down until their fingers intertwined. “Let’s go see the good doctor.”


	9. Getting Better

Sherlock woke when John woke. The two were tangled together on the small hospital bed but neither was uncomfortable. Sherlock’s legs were trapped by John’s legs while John’s arms were pinned by Sherlock’s.

John chuckled slightly and looked up to the other’s man. “Comfortable?”

Sherlock hummed and tightened around the smaller man. “Never better.” He answered.

He had indeed never been better. His doctor was alive and in his arms. Nothing would ruin this, not even the whole brain washed business that needed to be addressed. There was always later, right now Sherlock needed his John.

There was an irritated growl from the other side of the room. Sherlock felt John shift to acknowledge the nurse in the doorway. The tall man could feel the disapproval directed at his back but he didn’t care.

“Sherlock I need you to budge up a bit.” John said poking him in the side.

It tickled. Sherlock grunted and curled tighter into the doctor and the other man chuckled. The nurse huffed from the door way and Sherlock fought off the urge to insult the woman with the knowledge that not only was her husband gay but currently cheating on her.

“Why don’t you come back in a few minutes?” John suggested to her.

Her retreating footsteps were music to Sherlock’s ears and he took in a deep breath. John’s scent washed through him and he could almost feel himself drifting towards sleep again.

John poked his side again, Sherlock twitched and wiggled even closer. It must have clicked to the doctor, “Sherlock…are you ticklish?”

“No!” The wailed denial was a resounding ‘yes’ Sherlock knew but he didn’t mind John knowing this about him.

John poked the side again and dragged his fingers down. Sherlock grunted deep in his throat and swatted at John’s hands. The small doctor couldn’t help but giggle and did it again.

“Fine! Fine, I’m moving.” Sherlock said, rolling away from John. When he was vertical, Sherlock faced the other man with a small smile, his eyes tracing the familiar face of his doctor.

Slowly Sherlock reached out a hand and cupped John’s cheek. “I thought I would never see this face again.” He murmured.

A beautifully vibrant blush crept across John’s face. Sherlock had witnessed this many times when they first met but it was usually caused by anger and irritation, this was the first time that John had blushed due to attraction.

It hit Sherlock like a blow to the stomach. They had never had the chance to explore a relationship other than the platonic one and now that John was back…they could have something! A smile spread across Sherlock’s face, his doctor was back.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice held concern.

Sherlock pulled himself from his thoughts and took the doctor in once more.

John was severely underweight and the paper hospital gown only made it seem worse. It sagged around his body like elephant skin.

“How are you feeling?” The tall man asked reaching out a hand to run through his ashen hair.

John gave a small smile, “Starting to feel nauseous but nothing I can’t handle.

Sherlock took a deep breath knowing that things were just starting. If the doctors were right, John had been drugged for quite some time and it was going to be very hard on the man’s body.

“Just let me know the moment you can’t handle it anymore.” Sherlock instructed getting a glare in response as the nurse reenters the room.

She goes about checking John’s vitals and changing out I.V. bags. “Dr. Watson your heart rate is increasing.” The nurse pointed out as she checking his eyes.

“I might be starting my withdrawals,” he said.

“Alright Dr. Watson…”

“Please call me John.”

The nurse gave a small smile, “John, in the next hour or so the symptoms will slowly increase in severity. Your blood work came back positive for Benzodiazepine and at a high dose it induces an almost comatose state, do you understand?” she asked.

John frowned, “Of course I understand I am a _doctor_!” The words came out harsh and he looked a little surprised by them. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

The nurse waved off the apology, “Just another side effect of the withdrawals. You should expect fever, agitation, muscle spasms, and tremors as well. We’ll do our best to get you through this John so you won’t have to worry. Mr. Holmes will be here through every step of the way. I’ll have some water and food brought up.” She turned to Sherlock, “Mr. Holmes may I speak to you in the hall for a moment.”

The tall man blinked several times and glanced to John who smiled encouragingly. Following the nurse into the hall Sherlock became curious what she wanted to tell him.

The nurse faced him with a very serious look. “Mr. Holmes I’m not going to sugar coat it for you John’s situation could become fatal.”

Sherlock jerked at the last word.

“Long term effects of Benzodiazepine cause severe withdrawal symptoms, your presence will help but I need you attentive at all times for the next 48 hours, John’s life depends on it. This is looking to be abrupt withdrawals and could cause organ failure. You will need to do everything you can to keep John calm, can you do that?”

As her words sunk in Sherlock realized that he could be on the verge of losing John again, it terrified him.

“Mr. Holmes!”

The nurse’s sharp voice cut in to the panic that was beginning to rise in his stomach. Sherlock focused on the woman. He took her in for the first time.

She was short around the same height as John with short blonde hair and deep green eyes. She was John’s type, the girl Sherlock could see John settling down with and having a family. The name ‘Mary’ was attached to a nametag on her chest. ‘Mary’ was in her early thirties, no kids, and married for five years. Her husband was secretly gay and cheating.

“Mr. Holmes.” Mary tried again a twinge of concern in her tone.

Sherlock shook himself from the deduction which had pulled him from his near panic attack.

“Are you alright?” She asked and Sherlock watched the doctor mode, that John used, engage.

“Nothing to worry about.” He waved her off.

Mary eyed him slowly for a moment but didn’t press. “I need you to focus. John needs you.”

_John needs me?_

_John needs me…_

_John needs me!_

The thought chant through his mind, “I am aware.” He glanced over to spot John watching him.

“Good,” Mary said, “Now I’ll go get him ready for what is going to happen.” With that she was gone.

Sherlock went back to his doctor.

“Anything important?” John asked of when Sherlock was back.

The tall man shrugged, “We weren’t even discussing you.”

“Liar.” The doctor chuckled.

Sherlock looked over the man and saw the sheen of sweat building on his skin. Stepping closer the taller man flattened his palm to John’s forehead, the skin was scorching. “You have a fever.”

“Obviously.” John snapped before apologizing, “Sorry.”

Sherlock sat on the side of the bed and grabbed one of John’s hands. “How are you feeling?”

John winced, “My gown feels too tight, my skin is itchy and hot, and I want to throw stuff, so yeah not doing so well.” He pulled his hand from Sherlock’s grasp.

The action made Sherlock’s heart plummet but he tried to hide that fact. John must have caught sight of the hurt in the other man’s eyes. “Sorry my skin is starting to hurt.” He told Sherlock.

_What is wrong with me?_

Sherlock knew he was a mess. Everything had changed when John had died and now everything had changed again now that the man was back. Sherlock had become the sentimental fool that he hated. What would happen if John decided that he wanted to remain friends and started to date again?

That thought alone made Sherlock stomach flip.

_John, date someone else? John dating someone else!_

The thought was nauseating. Sherlock wouldn’t let his doctor go so soon. He cleared his throat and forced himself to think of something else.

“Is there anything I can get you?” He asked fighting the urge to touch John.

The doctor gave him a small strained smile, “Just stay here.” It was a simple request that Sherlock didn’t plan on breaking easily.

The nurse, Mary, came back with extra blankets and hospital gowns. She set the clothes in the bathroom and the blankets on the extra chair near the door. Soon another nurse entered with a try of food and water, placing them on the tray connected to the hospital bed.

“Make sure he eats that all.” Mary instructed and went about rechecking the monitors connected to John. When she was finished Mary left.

John ate the food though expressed thoroughly how much he hated hospital food. Sherlock held back a chuckle and watched the doctor.

“Jelly!” The doctor said excitedly grabbing up the little cup of green goo.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“What?” John asked smirking as he ate the gelatin.

“I didn’t know you would be so enthusiastic about rubbery sugar.” The taller man mused.

“I just really like jelly.” John said slurping down the last bite.

It hit Sherlock yet again, this was real. Everything that had happened was real. John was really alive and doing well. It was denial, Sherlock understood that. He felt that things were starting to turn around even if there were things that definitely needed to be discussed.  

Other than the roof incident John was himself, the same caring, strong, loving man that he always was. The tall man relaxed into his chair and watched John finish his meal, pushing aside the tray. The small man slithered down into the mattress and turned to face Sherlock.

Sweat was pouring down the other man’s face; his hospital gown was completely soaked. John’s compact frame shook and he rubbed his arms.

“It’s so cold.” He muttered curling into a ball on the bed.

Sherlock pulled the covers over the man. “I’m here it’s alright. Try to get some sleep.”

John nodded and wiggled down further, closing his eyes. It’s not long until he was asleep.

Sherlock watched as the fever turned John pale and coated sweat over his body.  All Sherlock could do was pile more blankets on.

 _Everything will be fine once the fever breaks._ The tall man assured himself.

A noise behind him announced the arrival of Lestrade.

“Sherlock.” The D.I. greeted, “How is he doing?”

Sherlock doesn’t take his eyes from John’s shivering form when he answers. “Not so well, he’s going through withdrawals.”

“I read the blood report.” Greg said moving closer. He stood behind Sherlock’s chair watching the other man’s restless slumber. They held their silence concentrating on their friend.

“When was the last time you ate?” Lestrade asked quietly.

Sherlock glanced to see the man still watching John. “Does it matter?” Sherlock could care less about himself at the moment and he was also unsure of the answer.

Greg turned his eyes to the taller man. “Of course it matters Sherlock. Do you really think starving yourself will help get John better?” The irritation flashing in the D.I.’s eyes usual did little to spur Sherlock in to action but this time the man was absolutely right.

“I will eat when I’m sure John is alright.” The taller man said.

Lestrade growled under his breath. “No Sherlock, now!” He snapped gripping Sherlock under the arm and pulling him from the chair.

Sherlock lacked the strength to struggle and allowed himself to be pushed into the hallway.

“Don’t come back until you have eaten.” The D.I. said training a glare on the younger Holmes.

“Come brother dear.” Mycroft’s soft voice called as warm fingers touched Sherlock’s shoulder and drew him from John’s room.


	10. Resting Up

Pain radiates everywhere, even when he is asleep John can’t escape the agony that rolls through him on waves. He’s hot and cold at the same time. Sweat has soaked through everything and the rough fabric of the hospital gown clings to him. Time seems to drag on but John feels like years have passed.

He can’t focus on anything. Faces and voice blur and are muffled, floating above him in shifting illusions of colors. John’s whole body feels like it’s on fire and there’s an itch that covers every inch of his skin. He scratches but nothing helps. The doctors strap his arms down to stop him from scratching. There’s something he wants, something that will quall the burning, that will make him feel human again but he knows he can’t have it.

Nothing quenches t the flames that are consuming his body. No amount of pain killers pumped into his system do anything. Sherlock’s hovering presences only keeps John’s fear at bay. Irrational terror keeps threatening to overwhelm him; Sherlock’s cool hand pressed close to John’s sends an instant sense of calm and safety through him.

For hours on end the doctor hovers in an unconscious state getting no true rest as boiling pain runs through him and listening for the next round of muffled voices above. John feels like he is floating but weight keeps him to the bed. He wants to feel irritated by the chaotic mess his mind is but John can’t focus enough to find the strength to care. His body is on fire and forming into an ice cube.

The moment John’s mind starts to clear he feels it, and when the fire in his body starts to lessen, John celebrates. When the voices and people above are no longer muffled or blurred the doctor once again becomes human.

Seeing them clearly for the first time John can note the differences two years has done to his friends. Added grey hairs and new wrinkles are the subtleties, and then there are the scars. Sherlock’s sporting one down the side of his neck and Greg has small ones on the back of his hands.

The blurred, drugged memories of the past two years seem like a long bad dream and make it feel as if time hasn’t moved. The memories sometimes tell a clear story showing John long forgotten images and he is glad he hadn’t remembered before.  Moriarty’s face swims in and out of focus. His words meddle into incoherent sentences.

John has been in the hospital for a week when he’s finally released into Sherlock’s custody and sent home with clear instructions not to do any heavy lifting and absolutely NO straining exercise.

The morning of, Greg and Mycroft show up with Anthea in the background typing vigorously on her blackberry. The D.I. is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet with pent up energy to get John out of the hospital. Greg hasn’t spared a second before wheeling John down the halls with the others following behind.

“Mrs. Hudson has been cleaning the flat all week for when you get home but you won’t get to see her. Sherlock thought it best not to overwhelm you too soon and had her go visit her sister. So next weekend we’ll have a welcome home party and everyone will come.” Greg is speaking quickly with words almost lost in his excitement.

“And I was looking forward to Mrs. Hudson’s hovering.” John says tiredly. He has spent a couple of days fully over his withdrawal symptoms but he is still exhausted. The doctor’s warn him that he may feel the withdrawal side effects for years to come but they aren’t going to be severe.

“Tonight you’ll have a nice quiet night at home and I’ll stop by to see how you’re doing tomorrow, can’t expect Sherlock to be the only one caring for you.” The D.I. whispers with a chuckle.

“Thank you Greg, I appreciate everything and I’m sorry for what you had to go through.” John says as he is helped into Mycroft’s car.

Greg pulls the seat belt around the doctor and buckles him in. The D.I. sighs and gives John a weak smile. “I don’t blame you John and I never will. I’m just glad you are alive.” He says patting the other man’s arm and shuts the door.

Sherlock is in the seat next to John. The taller man has been quiet for days, spending them watching over John intensely, he doesn’t seem upset; he just seems stunned and unsure. Sherlock slides close to John and laces his finger’s together with the doctor’s.

John smiles looking to the man next to him and squeezing the hand lightly.

Sherlock mirrors the smile but keeps his eyes forward.

They are driving down the familiar London streets, passing landmark after landmark that John is fond of. Tears are streaming down his face slowly as the happiness wells inside him.

“John?” Sherlock’s concerned voice snaps.

John turns his face with a watery smile. “I’m fine Sherlock I…I just…” He can’t explain it, Sherlock won’t understand. It is a sentiment thing.

Sherlock nods with a small smile. “Once we get to the flat, you will be able to rest.” He assures as if that is John’s problem.

John gives a forced smile and looks back out the window, sighing heavily. Sherlock didn’t understand and he didn’t want to understand. The man is a child when it comes to his emotions and now that he is emotionally compromised he is like a wild animal. Sherlock doesn’t know how to function and he could snap at any moment.

“Sirs,” The driver says quietly as they pull up to the curb outside 221B, “We’ve arrived.”

Sherlock slides out of the car quickly and hurries to open John’s door.

“Thank you.” John tells the driver before allowing Sherlock to guide him from the car.

As soon as Sherlock has John safely on the sidewalk, the government car drives off. The two men slowly make their way inside, taking it extra slow for John’s exhausted state. The stairs are frustrating and John has to stop to catch his breath.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Sherlock asks.

John lets out a breathy chuckle thinking he is joking but glimpses the serious look on the other man’s face. “Oh…ummm…thank you but no I think that might make things worse.”

Sherlock gives a glare along with a confused look. “Why worse?”

“I have stitches on my back and chest Sherlock. I’d rather they didn’t rip.” John says taking a tentative step with Sherlock’s support.

They make it the flat door without any more words.

“I warn you now; the flat doesn’t look anything like you remember.” Sherlock says eyeing the door steadily.

John pushes back the dread and curiosity. “It will be interesting to see the flat in a different way.” He says to make Sherlock feel better.

The tall man takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

John didn’t know what he is expecting maybe something extravagant, a change of wall paper, new furniture. Looking around the flat, John frowns. It is clean, things are organized, and the smell of vanilla replaced the familiar chemical tang.

“Ghastly…” Sherlock breathes.

John glances to his friend and snorts at the disgust on his face. “Oh yes…clean. How dare lovely Mrs. Hudson take the time to make my welcome home a little easier?” He teases.

Sherlock pouts. “She’s moved everything; I don’t know where anything is!” He whines.

John chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll be fine Sherlock.”

They move into the room and John is grateful to be lowered into his familiar chair. He wriggles deeper into his seat and sighs with happiness. “Lord have I missed this.”

Sherlock pauses. “You missed your chair?” He asks sounding amused and disappointed.

John looks at him and snickers, “Sentiment Sherlock.”

The taller man huffs, “As your temporary doctor John I must insist on you getting some rest,” John gestures to his chair with a raised eyebrow, “An actual bed Dr. Watson.” Sherlock corrects.

“Fine,” John sighs pushing himself up, “Take me away doctor.”

Sherlock snorts, “Be careful what you wish for,” He grips John tightly but gently and starts pulling him towards his bedroom.

“Umm…Sherlock that’s your room…” John protests feeling hot excitement rushing through him. He has only been in Sherlock’s room a handful of times.

“Would you rather climb more stairs to a room that may or may be prepared for you?” His friend asks.

“Fine, fine whatever, if the doctor thinks this is best.” John says allowing himself to be directed into the room.

The room hasn’t changed since the last time John had been in it and he likes it, the familiarity, but at the same time, it saddens him. Sherlock hadn’t tried to move on when John Fell, that much is clear by the state of the flat and his bedroom.

“Sherlock,” John went to speak when the taller man interrupts.

“I have night clothes for you.” Sherlock says releasing his hold on the doctor and grabbing clothes from the bed.

John eyes the clothes mildly surprised. “Thank you Sherlock but I would think it best if I tried to sleep with not so many layers, unless that makes you uncomfortable.” He spoke quickly.

Sherlock blinks slowly his eyes traveling down John’s body before snapping back up to his face. “Whatever you think is best, I will most likely refrain from sleeping.”

John pulls his shirt off with some help from Sherlock. “Working on a case?” He asks sitting on the bed to untie his shoes.

Sherlock drops to kneel before John and does the task himself. “No I haven’t had a case in…” He pauses as he thinks, “Almost a year.”

John stares. “What, why, what have you been doing instead?”

Sherlock frowns and stands back up, helping John as well, “Trousers, now.”

“No Sherlock, you answers me right now.” The ex-soldier snaps in his captain’s voice.

Sherlock eyes his friend wearily and sighs. “Can you please get in the bed and then I will tell you.” He sounds almost like he is pleading.

John’s heart hurts hearing that tone. “Fine but I’m not going to sleep until you tell me.”

Sherlock grins sadly. “Of course doctor.”

Once the trousers are gone, thrown into a pile with the rest, John lies tucked under a light sheet that barely touches his skin. Sherlock, still fully dressed, inhabits the other side of the bed.

“Now what have you been doing for the past year?” John asks gently.

Sherlock breathes in deeply. “After you jumped…I came to realize what exactly you meant to me and I couldn’t rest until everything THAT man had, was destroyed.” He snarls and John lifts a hand to grip his friend’s, “So I went on a manhunt. Mycroft helped of course giving me all the information I needed to trace down James’ connections. It took months and when I wasn’t off in other countries breaking down a criminal organization I was here helping on cases.”

“But this last year everything was dwindling down to the inner circle. I had James on the run and everywhere he went I followed. James would be the last life I took before…” Sherlock pauses and John understands what is about to be said. The doctor sat up and moves closer to his friend.

“Before I took my own life…I…I couldn’t live without you John. You were my whole life and you were gone. I felt no pleasure in ending anyone’s life in the last two years because I knew that no matter how many lives I took none could replace yours.” Sherlock’s normal warm baritone sounds strained.

John rests his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and laces their fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the other man’s.

“When James came back to London I saw my chance. I would end that man’s pitiful existence and finally get to rest. I used your gun…” The tall man says quietly, John almost misses it, “It always reminded me of the cabbie and I thought it fitting to use the weapon that brought us together, to end the one that tore us apart. Its poetic justice I suppose.”

“Even when I pulled the trigger and James lay at my feet, staining the floor with his life, I felt nothing and I wanted that relief that myths say comes with death. I was so close to ending myself when I saw a paper sticking out of James’ pocket. I was too curious, I couldn’t leave it and I’m glad I didn’t, the note led me to you.”

Sherlock face morphs to pure joy and he turns his head nuzzling the side of John’s neck, inhaling deeply. “At first I didn’t believe it was you, I still find that hard to believe. It was your scent…your natural aroma that made me believe that it was you. No one could copy genuine Watson.”

John chuckles letting the tears fall freely from his face.

Sherlock shifts until he pulls his hand from John and wraps his arm around the smaller man. “I never want to lose you again…please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t Sherlock, not if I can help it.” John assures his voice thick with the emotion.

Sherlock sinks closer to his doctor. “Hush don’t cry, you have nothing to cry about anymore.” He sounds like his is trying to sooth a child.

John sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m crying for you Sherlock. You thought about taking your genius and leaving the world. This Earth would definitely be a dark place without you.”

Sherlock pulls away slightly and John opens his eyes to see the man staring intensely at him.

“John you are the one that radiates light even in the darkest of places, you are so human.” Sherlock smiles, his free hand caressing the doctor’s face.

John is blushing and he clears his throat. “I should thank you for finding me even after everything that happened.”

Sherlock shakes his head, pressing himself back against John. “You need rest, we can talk more later.”

John yawns as if on cue. “If the doctor says so, his will be done.” He teases and they slide down to lay together. John is still wrapped up in Sherlock’s arm as the other comes to rest around his front.

“Is this alright?” The man asks cautiously.

John wiggles closers, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder. “Better than alright.” He answers.

“Get some rest John.” The taller man is saying but John’s light snoring responds.

Sherlock doesn’t want to sleep but he is so happy and content as well as comfortable. His body betrays him and he falls asleep with the doctor safely in his arms.


	11. Picking Up the Pieces

Mycroft has been quiet all morning but that seems to be the Holmes brother’s attitude as Greg pushes John out of the hospital. Once Greg is in the back of the car with Mycroft, the D.I. wants to talk but one look from the ginger haired man keeps him quiet.

Lestrade knows something is on Mycroft’s mind; the ice man is at war with himself. It’s a war that Greg hadn’t seen before but the Holmes brothers are alike and when they are thinking they prefer to be left alone. Greg sat back in his seat listening to the soft buzz of the car as they drove through London and the constant clicking of Anthea’s phone. Glancing over the D.I. spots a manila envelope on Mycroft’s lap.

Greg hadn’t seen it on the ride over that morning so Mycroft must have gotten it at the hospital so there is only conclusion; John’s blood report or the report that will confirm that John is really John.

The D.I. is still a little heated about the fact that Mycroft is uncertain of the whole situation but Greg understands. It’s Mycroft’s job to be suspicious especially of a good thing, something that should have been impossible. Hell, even Greg has been skeptical when he first glimpsed John hanging from the bed frame.

Time had stopped, everything had stopped and Greg couldn’t look anywhere but at the slackened face of the drugged doctor. Night after endless night the D.I. had woken to that face covered in blood, blue eyes opened and staring, lifeless. That reoccurring nightmare had been a torment in Greg’s life for months after John’s death and it wasn’t until Mycroft came into his life that things had changed.

The D.I. smiles at that thought. Mycroft Holmes is a whirlwind that swept into his life after John’s Fall and Sherlock’s disappearance.

Greg had been in a losing battle, he was alone and only the constant flow of alcohol made days even possible. At every chance he got, Greg would drink until he passed out. He would take the thick darkness to the nightmares any day. Greg was at the point that he didn’t care, he had stopped eating; dropping weight at an alarming rate. He had stopped sleeping; unless the drink drove him into blackness. Greg sat on his sofa, only moving to find more alcohol.

Three months after John’s death, Mycroft showed up. Greg hadn’t been expecting it, he hadn’t even thought of the elder Holmes being involved with Sherlock’s affairs. The tall ginger in the very elegant, very expensive suit had let himself in, strolling through Greg’s front door without knocking and into the flat.

“That’s enough of that I think Detective Inspector.” Mycroft had said, standing before Greg in all his glory, the trusty umbrella proudly at his side.

The D.I. hadn’t showered in weeks and the alcoholic haze dulled his senses drastically. It had taken Greg several minutes to recognize the man, thought they had never met, he knew the voice. “Piss off.” He managed.

Mycroft looked less than impressed with the word choice. The tall man sighed and glanced around the dingy flat with a look of disgust. “I assure you there is nothing I would rather do,” The elder Holmes said before looking to the broken man on the couch, “But as it so happens I know my brother had be rather put off if something were to happen to you even if it were by your own doing.” Mycroft threw in a smile.

It was the smile that caught Greg’s attention, the smile of pity and sadness. Mycroft was well known for his icy exterior even to those who had never met him but that smile, that held the smallest amount of emotion, struck Greg.  The fog in his mind seemed to clear slightly at that moment and Greg stood but his balance was nonexistent after many days on a couch without moving. He of course lost his balance and was falling for the floor. Greg never made it.

A strong hand gripped Greg’s arm and pulled him to the warmth of a very alive body. The D.I. blinked several times and his slow brain caught up with the events. Upon standing Greg had started to fall but a nearby Mycroft had hurried forward to catch him, one hand on Greg’s arm and the other wrapping around his back for support. The D.I. had one hand planted on Mycroft’s chest while the other gripped the other man’s arm at a very awkward angle.

“Ummmm….” Greg said attempting to straight himself, “Thanks.”

Mycroft made certain the D.I. was steady before stepping back, the smile spread across his face. “Think nothing of it.”

Greg’s entire world turned upside from that day on. He was forced back into living by the elder Holmes and some days had been hard but they steadily grew better.

The day Mycroft became his lover, well that is a day never to be forgotten.

Greg had suspected that there was more to Mycroft’s claim of watching out for Sherlock’s ‘friends’ while he was away. For one; Sherlock didn’t have friends, he had one and that one was buried, and two; if Sherlock had friends Greg doubted he would be considered one of those friends since the younger Holmes couldn’t even be bothered to remember the D.I.’s name so Greg knew that Mycroft had some other hidden agenda.

After six months of daily visits from the eldest Holmes, Greg finally managed enough courage to confront the man. Mycroft was a very intimidating person, like scary intimidating. The D.I. had gone up against murderers and other criminals but never was more terrified than of the man in the exquisite suits and always present umbrella.

Greg, however, had seen a brighter side of Mycroft. In the months the man had waltzed in Greg’s life, they had spent hours talking.  The D.I. had learned a great deal about the mysterious Mr. Holmes and enjoyed his company very much. Greg was honored with the many childhood tales and even the dreams of Mycroft; it was a whole other man. Greg wanted to break that shell and bring that other man forward and into the light.

“Why do you come here?” Greg asked, more like blurted out.

Mycroft didn’t look surprised he merely looks steadily at the D.I. with mild interest; a look Greg knew was a cover. “Can you be a little more specific?”

 Greg glares, setting down the glass in his hand and turning to face the other man on the couch next to him. “Why do you come here every day to see me? Why do you spend hours and hours just talking to me or listening? Why do sit there and give me that smile that I know is genuine? Why do you come here even when Sherlock doesn’t care about me? Why do you come here?” The questions burst from the D.I. quickly and without restraint.

The ice man looks taken aback and sets his own glass down slowly, never taking his eyes from Greg.

Lestrade slowly takes in the other man’s face. Every detail is sharpened and closed off. The ginger hair is placed perfectly with the slight curl on his forehead and blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles. The man is beautiful, so why does he waste his time on the worthless heap of a broken man?

“There’s only one way to answer that,” Mycroft starts slowly; his attention is fully focused on Greg, “it’s you.”

“What?” The D.I. asked. He had not been expecting that at all. He sat back in his seat staring wide eyed at Mycroft trying to understand what he meant.

The other man took a deep breath, leaning closer to Greg. “I come here every day to see you. I spend hours talking to you or listening to you. I smile for you. I come here because Sherlock does care but more importantly I care so the simple answer is I come here for you.”

Greg blinked at him not sure how he should respond.

“In the years you have helped my brother by allowing him to assist you in cases I have come to know you. I have watched you from afar, leaning about you. I know you prefer spring instead of summer because you enjoy warm rain. I know you like coffee and bagels for breakfast. I know you would rather read a book than watch T.V. any day but the most important thing, the thing I have come to love about you is; your love.” Mycroft smiles, a _fond_ smile!

“I love how you can love and how fierce your love is. I knew that the moment you learned of John’s death you would take it hard. John was your friend and you loved him like a brother. You love Sherlock, that’s why you put up with his attitude and his childish ways. Your love is so strong that it radiates from you in a wave and anyone nearby absorbs it.” The ice man is melting before the D.I.’s as he continues to talk.

“I want that. I want to feel that love, I want to know that love, I want to be in that love. I love Sherlock but I love little else in this world. I could even say I loved John but that love was more for the fact that John loved Sherlock. I watched how John’s love changed Sherlock and I wanted that. I want love to change me. I’m tired of being cold and emotionless. I play this role, I’m an actor stuck in a position that I can’t change but I crave change. I want to be loved and love in return.” Mycroft looks strange as he speaks.

It isn’t until later that Greg realizes that the look he sees coming from Mycroft is fear. The ice man is afraid of love and the change it makes. He craves for it so much but he fears it.

“I…I…” Greg didn’t know what to say. Everyone deserved to be loved.

“I want to be close to you so I can know you alright. I never want you to feel pain like this ever again but I understand that I can’t prevent that but I will be here for any comfort that you need of me. I don’t expect much from you, I don’t even expect you to do anything for me, you just needed to hear the truth.” Mycroft stands, looking down on Greg before moving to leave.

The D.I. catches his arm as Mycroft goes pass, stopping him. Greg stands and hugs the other man tightly to him. Mycroft is a little hesitant but eventually brings his arms up and returns to embrace. The tall man rubs small circles into Greg’s back as they stay locked together for several minutes.

When Lestrade moves to let go, he is surprised when warm lips are suddenly on his. It had been almost a year since he had been kissed. His ex-wife had been adamant in excluding herself from any intimate situations in the months leading up to the finalizing of their divorce but one drunken night they found themselves on the couch sogging. Those kisses were more of a farewell then of re-establishing a relationship.

This kiss was indescribable. Greg could feel the world vibrating around him, he didn’t love Mycroft but there was definitely a connection. He was more of an outsider in the moment, letting Mycroft lead the way. The other man’s mouth was slow and commanding. His hands eased Greg’s head around for the perfect angle and pulled him closer. Their bodies were pressed so tight together nothing could pass between them.

Mycroft kissed Greg like a hungry man savoring his last meal. The D.I. could taste the other man’s longing and eagerness. After several minutes of one sided kissing, Greg pushed himself into the contact. He moved his hands up, digging them into Mycroft’s shoulders to keep him from escaping. With the other man secure, the D.I. opened his mouth more and reached out and tentatively teased Mycroft’s bottom lip with his tongue. The elder Holmes gasped slightly at the intrusion and Greg dove inside.

Mycroft released a moan spurring Greg onward; he attacked the other man’s mouth with vigor leaving them both panting.

“I didn’t anticipate that.” The other man chuckled when he pulled away.

Greg growled against his neck and kissed his way downward. “What did you anticipate?” He wanted to know.

Mycroft inhaled sharply. “Nothing like this, I thought you would reject me.” He mumbled as his fingers slid down the D.I.’s body.

“Who says I still won’t?” Greg muttered licking the long exposed throat.

Mycroft hummed without speaking.

Greg didn’t reject the ice man, not even for a second, and fell hard for Mycroft. Neither had felt the love they felt for each other and they wouldn’t give it up for the world. Greg understands Mycroft better than anyone else and can see why the man is struggling with the facts around John’s fall.

The D.I. looks over at Mycroft again and decides to push, “John’s blood report?” Greg asks gesturing at the envelope.

The other man’s body tenses and his hand grips the envelope. He doesn’t have to speak for the detective to know the answer.

“Well let’s have a look at it.” Greg says sliding closer.

Mycroft looks over at him with fond irritation but opens the envelope. The two have looked over hundreds of blood reports and go to the space that will tell them exactly what they want to know.

“It’s a perfect match.” Mycroft says with a disappointed tone.

Greg glares at the man. “Don’t sound so damn cheerful!” He snaps.

The ice man looks at him with a look of regret. “Gregory I assure you I am thrilled about this news but…” He pauses seeming unsure how to continue, “I saw him Gregory. I saw his body being prepared. I saw the blood they rinsed from his head.” The ice man looks shaken.

Greg leans into the other man. “My,” He spoke quietly, sliding his arms around the other man, “I don’t know how and I don’t know why but Moriarty kept John alive. There probably a reason and it’s probably not good but John is alive. He’s alive. I don’t understand what happen or how it happened. I know you will keep searching until you come up with the answers.” He kisses Mycroft’s cheek and sliding back to nip at the skin behind his ear.

“I should listen to you more often.” Mycroft breathes moving his head to give the D.I. more room.

Greg smiles against his lover’s neck. “Yes, yes you should,”


	12. Moving Things Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst and sexy times.

Sherlock wakes wrapped in John, he is uncomfortably warm, not only is he still fully clothed but has a warm doctor pressed into him. John looks so peaceful that Sherlock can’t disturb him so he doesn’t move. The taller man has the perfect view with the doctor wrapped around his front.  He worries for a moment about John’s stitches but a smile spreads across the smaller man’s face and he nuzzles into Sherlock’s chest. The small movement stunts the genius’s thoughts.

Sliding a hand up Sherlock stroked the face before him and his mind jumped back to that moment he had opened the warehouse door to find his doctor alive.

It was like watching something in slow motion as the door falls away and the familiar grey/blonde hair nearly grown over his eyes. Sherlock didn’t need to see his face to know his doctor. He had studied the man many times and had memorized his features even two years hadn’t obscured the image. The scars on his chest both old and fresh were seared into his memory, they weren’t life threatening but they couldn’t be exactly painless.

Sherlock mind drew back further to the months using Mycroft’s sources to hunt down the strands of Moriarty’s web, the countless lives he had ended. Faces of men and women blend into one mass of James’s face, the only one that is recognizable. Sherlock doesn’t regret the things he has done and he never will, his doctor is in his arms once again and nothing in the world can pull that apart.

John moves disrupting Sherlock’s thoughts. The doctor’s face is now one of fear; his features contorted with his brow stitched together and drawn high on his forehead. John’s mouth has fallen open slightly and his breathing has increased. The smaller man’s body shakes and his heart vibrates through his chest into Sherlock.

John is having a night terror. Being a wounded soldier sent home invalid John had a small bit of PTSD that would act up every now and again. The drawn out screams of terror had always set Sherlock on edge. The first time it had happened the genius hadn’t been expecting it.

It had been a few weeks after the doctor moved in and Sherlock was surprised about how accustomed he had already become to the other man’s presence. He had been deep in his mind palace when the scream echoed through the silent flat. Blinking a few times Sherlock thought for a moment he had fallen asleep but another scream brought him to his feet. Without a second thought the tall man sprinted up the stairs to John’s room.

He expected to find an intruder or someone attacking the ex-soldier but the other man was alone, thrashing and fighting with his sheets tangled around his legs.

“John?” Sherlock called confused. He wasn’t one for nightmares and definitely didn’t understand the effect of it on others.

John didn’t answer. He whimpered and struggled.

“John.” Sherlock tried again moving closer to the bed. When the doctor still didn’t answer Sherlock touched his shoulder. Suddenly the taller man found himself flat on his back with a John straddling him. The ex-soldier was growling in his face, the look in John’s eyes said he clearly was still stuck in his dream.

“John,” Sherlock spoke slowly, “Your dream isn’t real. You are not in Afghanistan anymore; you were shot and now live with me.” 

John blinked at him and recognition came into his eyes. His face morphed into confusion and then quickly into shock. He sat back without moving off of Sherlock, “Sherlock?” He whispered.

Uncertain of what to do Sherlock reached up and gripped the doctor’s shoulder. “John.” He said in confirmation.

John stood up and pulled Sherlock to his feet. Every night John had a nightmare Sherlock would come to his side and wake him.

Reaching up slowly the genius runs his hand through the doctor’s hair gently. “Hush now John,” he rumbled knowing his low voice always comforted John, “I’m here nothing is going to harm you.”

John’s mind had been traumatized more than from his days of war. Moriarty would have tortured John’s body and his mind, no doubt. James would have made the doctor question reality and then understand that it was all real. Using drugs and pain John would have slowly slipped away into someone else with nothing of the doctor left within but for some reason Moriarty hadn’t taken it that far. James had stopped with simple brainwashing, creating only a childlike personality instead of someone a little more dangerous.

Sherlock forced those thought away and began comforting his friend again. “There’s nothing to worry about now John, you are home and safe.”

***

It’s so warm. Everything is bursting with light and warmth. No traces of shadows linger even in corners. Yet a presences hovers clouding the air with thickness, it’s not a scent or anything for that matter but the room feels heavy. Each draw of breath is choking and almost overwhelming. The light and warmth is an illusion to the sinister phantom.

No amount of struggling breaks the hold of sluggishness. The light and warmth vanish showing the space for its true self.

Pitch darkness is now blanketed everything, not a trace of light can be seen and then the voice begins speaking. It’s a woman’s voice etching fear into everything with every syllable.

“John,” The voice whispers, “My lovely, my pet. You are so good to me.”

The voice is thick like the presences but soft and gentle like a lover’s, it’s like the light and warmth, an illusion.

Pain radiates through every fiber, burning and scorching flesh. Agony is ripping following the sound of laughter. Boiling touches drag over raw wounds leaving trails of molten skin, exposing red meat and live nerves that blister, coiling against the heat.

“John you are my little soldier, going to make mommy proud.”

Screams, the smell of blood, and nothing, the senses meld together becoming a chaotic mess, reality doesn’t exist. Up is down and right is left. Darkness is the light and shadows are safe. Vision is not a necessity is a world of abnormality. The things that once made sense have been reversed.

“Fly little hedgehog, fly!” A singsong voice whispers in the air.

Breathe on the neck reeking of flowers and blood, burning flesh and rotting gore. Golden, glowing eyes hover in the air just out of reach, taunting.

“Beautiful little solider,” the sweet voice hums, “making mommy proud.”

Then white noise, only the sound of heavy breathing breaks the irritating, high pitched noise. Muffled voice buzz together in an outraged horde, nothing blocks or dims the sound. It draws closer, pressing in becoming a heavy weight forcing all the oxygen from the lungs out. Gravity pulls and stretches paralyzing every muscle.

“Little hedgehog.” The words are distorted and screaming.

Gunfire and screams replace the white noise. Heat and sweat of a familiar landscape ripple under clothed feet. The weight in hand is of a standard issued army rifle, hot from being fired rests in steady hands. The panicked screams and blood curdling cries of the wounded ring through ears, the hot sand under foot shifts without care for this is war.

The heated air makes breathing almost impossible. The eyes don’t work and listening is the only way to see by.

_What do I do?_

Is on repeat in the brain just as pain erupts from the shoulder, it takes a moment as the back hits the ground before the pieces fall into place and realization springs sluggishly by; I’ve been shot.

“No dear one,” the woman assures, “you aren’t shot, and you never were.”

John snaps awake, throwing Sherlock from his arms in his haste. His stitches pull and the doctor freezes with the pain, his mind a whirl of panic and confusion. His whole body is shaking from the nightmare. John is taking large, gasping breathes as he looks frantically around the room, his eyes finally landing on Sherlock.

The tall man is kneeling beside John, his face that of true concern.

“Sher…lock?” The doctor manages feeling as if he’s waking up for the first time all over again.

Sherlock doesn’t say anything before John is wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Tears are leaking from his eyes in relief.

“Shhh John, you’re alright.” The genius murmurs lightly stroking the rapidly cooling skin.

John tightens his hold of Sherlock, never wanting the man to escape from him. Even now John felt a little lost, he felt as if something is missing and it is slowly becoming a growing anxiety. The doctor needs to know that Sherlock isn’t going anywhere.

“You want to tell me about it?” Sherlock mumbles startling John.

John pulls away to look the man in the face giving him a confused look. “What?”

The other man looks a little uncomfortable but determined. “Your dream, do you want to talk about it?”

The smaller man opens his mouth to speak but his mind is suddenly blank. A moment ago everything from the dream was swirling in his head trying to escape but the moment he opened his mouth to tell Sherlock it vanished. John blinks at the genius for a few drawn out seconds before speaking. “I don’t remember…it was there and now…it’s gone…why is it gone?” John knows he’s sounds like a child but for the first time in a long time he is truly terrified.

The last time he was truly scared was when Sherlock’s life was threatened and it was jump or watch him die.

Sherlock leans forward pressing his forehead to John’s. “John,” that lone baritone does little to calm the doctor’s nerves, “some things happened to you in the last two years that drugs and your mind have suppressed but your subconscious will bring them forward in your dreams. You aren’t meant to remember them until it’s time for now you will only relive them every now and then.”

“That’s not very comforting.” John points out.

Sherlock sighs reaching a hand up to cup John’s cheek. “I’m being realistic, as a doctor you want facts not beautified half-truths so I am merely being accommodating.”

John has to smile because the genius is absolutely right; John does want to know even if it is hard to hear or to understand. He doesn’t want to be babied or coddled over. “Thank you.” He says.

“Though I feel it is appropriate to ask; are you alright?” Sherlock states his eyes darting over the doctor’s face rapidly.

John takes in a deep breath and his body relaxes slightly. “I will be fine.” He answers pulling himself away from the other man to flop on to the mattress. His movements trigger protests from his wounds but they are easily ignored.

Sherlock remains upright for some minutes before settling on the pillow beside John.

The doctor doesn’t approve of the distance and rolls closer to the other man and wraps around him being mindful of his stitches. John nestles under Sherlock’s chin and inhales the familiar scent that can only be this man’s; tobacco and just natural Sherlock.

John has never been in a romantic relationship with a man, sure in the army when a guy needed a little release the doctor was happy to oblige but nothing too extreme. With Sherlock everything felt unanswered. John isn’t even sure the man is comfortable or wants a relationship though the touches and other affections couldn’t be any clearer. Still John being John needs to hear the words from Sherlock’s mouth.

“Sherlock,” the doctor starts off hearing the light hum in response, “have you ever been in a relationship before?”

Sherlock shifts but John tightens his hold on the man knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the words out if he saw Sherlock’s face. The other man stills and fingers start to stroke skin in a comforting way.

“I’ve had many relationships but I assume you mean a romantic one which in that case; no I have not.” The way he answers is something akin to boredom.

John swallows against the lump in his throat. “Do you want a relationship with me?” He can barely form those words and even then they are quiet.

Sherlock moves again and not even John’s tightening hold keeps him still. Reluctantly the doctor releases the other man and Sherlock wiggles down to be eye level with John. The lunar eyes lock on to his. Sherlock’s face is transformed; the blank, uninterested look is gone replaced by a small, soft smile. A hand cups John’s face, holding his head up to keep eye contact.

“John,” Sherlock purrs the word and his eyes light up, “there is nothing in the world I want more than to have you at my side at all times. It’s true I have no experience in a relationship setting but you are the one I will try with. I know I may cause problems and not understand fully what I have done wrong but one thing will not change, I love you John. I had to watch you die and wait two years to find you alive. I refuse to let you go again.”

The possessiveness in his voice is startling to John but the words coming from the other man’s mouth are heaven. Surging forward John kisses him.

Sherlock is stunned but responses with vigor. Tilting John’s head back he deepens the kiss, licking at John’s mouth until it opens. Diving in Sherlock examines John’s mouth. The doctor is surprised by the experience Sherlock is exhibiting as they kiss. John thought he would be the one dominating the kiss but Sherlock overtook it like an expert putting John’s knowledge to shame.

“Where…did you learn to kiss like that?” John pants when he pulls away for air.

Sherlock’s lips are migrating over every corner of John’s face. “It was for a case.” The man answers between kisses.

This reply pulls a chuckle from the doctor, “of course it was.” He teased before a hot, greedy mouth covers his.

John is so enamored by Sherlock he’s concentrating more on the kiss than anything else but roaming hands on his body catch his attention. Sherlock long, thin fingers are prodding and stroking his bare chest. Those digits graze over hardened nipples and the sensation of pleasure shoots down John’s spine. He moans into Sherlock’s mouth and feels the other man’s smug smirk as they continue kissing.

“Why are you still dressed?” John groans when he finds control of his arms. He’s beyond caring how he sounds he needs to touch naked skin before he burst into flames. Sweat coats his body and every nerve is at attention awaiting what is to come next.

“Taking it slow,” Sherlock mutters as fingers slips into John’s pants.

The first brushed touch makes John let out a high pitched whine and he’s breathing too heavily to kiss properly. “No, not slow.” The smaller man gasps managing to get his hands under Sherlock’s shirt. His clumsy, shaking fingers find his own nipples to tease. Gently rolling the nubs between his fingers John is rewarded with Sherlock’s breathless moan and a faltered hand movement in his pants.

“God, Sherlock,” John cries arching himself into the taller man, “please!” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but whatever it is he needs it.

Sherlock halts his hand and pulls it free from the constricting fabric. He roughly pushes the pants down with an irritated huff before he returns to his ministrations with even more purpose in his touch.

John is lost in the powerful arousal and his hips start working on their own, pumping into Sherlock’s fist. The tight embrace around him is choking but so good. He has never been touched by another person in this way and the sensation is almost too overwhelming. Making coherent thoughts are impossible and the only thing on John’s mind is; Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” The smaller man pants when he forces himself to speak wanting to return this feeling but Sherlock’s other hand grips the back of his neck, forcing his mouth closer.

“Let go John.” Sherlock whispers before pulling all the air from John’s body with a blistering kiss.

That’s all it takes to send John over the edge, screaming into Sherlock’s mouth as his hips give tiny, final jerks. Through the entirety John managed to keep his eyes open and he stares at the grey/blue irises before him. They breathe together, taking in the silence that has followed the mind blowing experience.

“Was that okay?” Sherlock asks tentatively and John can only stare until realization hits him.

Sherlock is afraid he has already screwed up and truly wants to know what John is feeling. Warmth swamps his body; John can barely describe the emotions flying through him but is sure one of them is unrelenting love.

“Idiot,” John murmurs affectionately and slides forward to kiss the detective hoping it’s enough to quail any doubt the other man may have had. Pulling away he smiles. “That was brilliant.” He assures just so the other man is certain.

“Obviously,” Sherlock mumbles turning his face to try and hide his embarrassment.

Chuckling John slides his hand down to cup a very straining bulge through the taller man’s trousers. “Need a little assistance with this? I am a doctor after all.” He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Sherlock snorts as his face burns red. “Please don’t, I definitely did not sign up for a cliché as a lover.”

John draws back a bit with a teasing smile, “Lover, how about boyfriend?” Sherlock’s jaw drops but the smaller man continues, “Life partner? Better half, companion?”

“Must we be labeled?” Sherlock asks clearing his throat and looking to be losing a battle to control the color heating his cheeks.

John moves closer nuzzling along Sherlock’s jawline. “How are we to introduce ourselves to people?”

Sherlock breathes in sharply as the doctor captures an earlobe in his mouth. “Sherlock and John.” The taller man manages gasping and squirming, “John and Sherlock.”

“Will you hold my hand in public?” John whispers squeezing Sherlock’s arousal lightly, enjoying the barely restrained whimper.

“Yes,” Sherlock hisses. His head falling back and his eyes slamming shut as his hips jerk.

Encouraged by the reaction John slowly slides down the bed, dragging the taller man’s clothes down. Sherlock’s erection springs free, standing straight and leaking. Curious and feeling bold the doctor gingerly licks the underside of the shaft. Sherlock whines and his hips buck.

“Eager, aren’t we?” John murmurs before doing it again.

Sherlock is very responsive and engaging, the whole experience has been intriguing. John is enjoying another side of his friend he hadn’t had the privilege of before and it is enlightening. The doctor loves every side of his detective but this man withering beneath him is entirely foreign.

Taking pity on the man John engulfs as much as he can without chocking. Having never done something like this is nerve wracking but the doctor doesn’t allow that to slow him down. Slowly he begins exploring the limb in his mouth. The soft, velvety skin stretched over hardened muscle sends a spine tingling thrill through him. John flattens his tongue, dragging it over the length until he reaches the head. Moving back over it again John increases the speed, bobbing his head up and down the girth.

As John took pleasure from the newness between his lips he notes fingers tangling in his hair. Looking up through his lashes, the doctor can’t see Sherlock’s face since it’s still thrown back but the sounds coming from the man are heavenly. The fingers jerk slightly and instead of putting John off; it increases the fire pulsing through him. Humming in approval John stills his head and places his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

The lack of movement catches Sherlock’s attention and he raises his head with questioning eyes. John smiles around the length and pulls on the hips under his fingers trying to get his offer across. Suddenly the genius comes to an understanding, his eyes widen and a surprised lust filled realization appears.

Steadily Sherlock tightens his hold in John’s hair, receiving another approval, and starts to slow rock his hips. The sliding of the membrane over his tongue makes John moan with renewed intensity.

“John!” Sherlock murmurs as his hips begin thrusting in earnest.

John opens his mouth more, relaxing into the wonderful intrusion until he can feel the head of Sherlock bumping the back of his throat. Under his fingers the doctor feels the muscles in Sherlock’s thighs start to tighten signaling near completion. Tightening his hold on the other man’s hip John starts meeting Sherlock’s thrusts and using his tongue to slid along the shaft.

Sherlock gasps his hands pulling on John’s hair sending shocks of pain that are easily ignored. The thrusts begin to become erratic and uncoordinated. Sherlock’s length hardens further and swells. The bitter and salty taste of Sherlock pre-release pulls another moan from John and he increases his head bob. Sherlock cries out and the thrusting is out of sync as he finishes in John’s mouth.

Releasing the softening membrane John crawls back up the genius kissing his body before reaching his mouth. Kissing the slacken lip the doctor kisses Sherlock sweetly.

“Was that okay?” John asks against the mouth.

Sherlock hums in contentment and slides an arm around the doctor. John chuckles, he doesn’t need to hear Sherlock’s words at the moment. He can feel everything the other man is feeling. John had done this before but it was different with Sherlock. John shouldn’t be surprised by that though, everything is different with Sherlock.

John listens as quiet snores start coming from the other man and smiles to himself, smugly thinking over how his mouth had lulled the genius to sleep. Relaxing into Sherlock the smaller man settles into doze.


	13. Forgotten

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asks yet again.

John glares, huffing in irritation. It has been two weeks since coming home from the hospital and they are headed to their first crime scene in over two years. The doctor is exasperated by Sherlock’s over active need to coddle since coming home. John understands the man is just afraid something may happen to separate them again but he can’t stand it any longer so he pleaded with Greg to send a case in the Consulting Detective’s direction.

“Yes, once again I am sure though I’m not running after any criminals just so we’re clear,” John replies smiling at his now boyfriend.

They hadn’t come up with an official title for their coupling though it mattered little since John is just happy they are together. He still feels a little strange about the whole thing of thinking of his flat mate in that way, not that he hadn’t secretly already thought of them as more. Their romantic relationship had come to a crawl since the first day and they were almost dancing around each other at home. True they would lounge together on the sofa watching crap telly but nothing progressed from shy kissing.

Sherlock eyes John from his side of the cab looking about ready to argue but doesn’t at the last moment.

John smiles trying to suppress any doubt the other man may have. He knew Sherlock is worried about his mental health and didn’t want anything to trigger something.

A week before John had been dressing after a shower when his hand skimmed over an odd spot on his shoulder. Pausing as he pulled on his shirt. Carefully he ran his hand over his left shoulder and was surprised to feel a large knot of torn flesh healed into a scar. When he wasn’t able to get a clear look at the area he went to the bathroom ignoring Sherlock’s questioning eyes that followed him.

In the bathroom he examined his shoulder, his stomach dropped when he looked over the twisted flesh. Seeing the scar horrified John beyond measure, he had no recollection of the bullet that clearly made the injury.

“What the fuck?” John growled tracing the tissue gingerly.

Sherlock’s presence pushed in beside him. “John?” He asked.

John spun to face his friend, “When the fuck did I get shot?” He snapped looking over his shoulder at his reflection.

The wound had clear been made by a sniper rifle and by the rough scarring it had become infected. The front of John’s shoulder was the entrance wound and had created a small circular scar but the back of his shoulder was a mess.

Sherlock’s hands gripped John’s face pulling him around to look. The concern on the other man’s face disrupted any other of John’s thoughts. Sherlock’s steady fingers pressed against the doctor’s forehead seeming to be checking for a fever before cupping his face.

“Are you alright John?” Sherlock asked stroking John’s jaw slowly.

The ex-soldier shook his head. “No, I’m not. I got shot and I don’t remember that ever happening.” He answered jerking his face from the other man’s grasp.

Sherlock blinked rapidly. “John, you were shot during your last tour in Afghanistan before being sent home invalid.”

“What?” John was confused. He remembered his last tour, it had been a lot bloodier than anything he had ever experienced but remembered nothing about being shot. “I don’t remember that.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in renewed worry and forced John to the nearest hospital for a few dozen tests.

The tests showed nothing and John still didn’t remember being shot.

Now Sherlock gave John curious and very worried glances. Every now and then the man would ask about superficial memories to test John’s recollection. He remembered them all.

John is baffled by his memory loss and can’t find anything to explain how he could forget something so essential to his life. The injury had been the very foundation that led John to Sherlock and even though he didn’t have the memory he still is grateful.

“John.” Sherlock speaks quietly breaking the doctor from his thoughts.

They have arrived at the crime scene that is surrounded by cop cars. Sliding from the cab John glares at the taller man when he takes the doctor’s arm to help.

“I’m fine.” John assures with a little heat.

Sherlock doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press it. Giving John a long look he turns and heads for the uniformed detectives with the doctor at his heels. John ducks under the tape when Sherlock lifts it for him and spots Greg nearby.

“Dr. Watson,” Lestrade greets with bright eyes and an out stretched hand, “glad to see you up and about.”

“Where’s the body?” Sherlock says eyeing the narrow alley they are currently in.

The D.I. rolls his eyes but waves for them to follow.

The body is a young woman who is naked and hanging half way out of a dumpster. Sherlock gets to work right away and John lingers back with Greg.

“Affixation,” the doctor supplies as the cause of death.  Sherlock barely pauses to nod in agreement.

“How have you been doing?” Lestrade asks watching the genius move about.

John shrugs, “slowly being smothered to death by a clingy Consulting Detective. Oh he’s been on his best behavior but it’s slowly driving me insane.” Greg chuckles as John continues, “Sherlock’s been walking around me like I might explode and trying to act like everything is alright, it’s infuriating.” He huffs rubbing his temples.

“I know he’s just afraid that something is going to happen and he doesn’t want to be alone again. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell him that nothing’s going to happen because that’s near enough to a lie.”

Greg squeezes John’s shoulder lightly in comfort and opens his mouth to speak but Sherlock starts chuckling quietly. The other two men look at him with raised eyebrows.

“So simple,” he murmurs to himself and his face takes on a look of uninterested, “Too simple, not even a two.” The tall man turns to face the D.I. with a glare, “really Lestrade, even your moronic gaggle can’t figure this one out?”

“Sherlock,” Greg warns narrowing his eyes.

Sherlock wasn’t intimidated in the least. “You have wasted my time here Lestrade.” He says.

John sighs quietly but the tall man’s mouth slams shut and he glances at the doctor. John purses his lips giving Sherlock a stern look with a nod towards the D.I.

Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes, “I know who did it but really Detective Inspector this is ridiculous even for you.”

Lestrade folds his arms over his chest clearly irritated.

“It was the mother,” Sherlock tells him and lists off all the factors that point to that fact but John doesn’t hear it.

He suddenly felt nauseous as his vision swims. The world tips and everything begins to feel heavy, gravity is working against John and his knees buckle nearly sending him to the ground. His body sags under the attack, pressure weighs on his whole being.

If Greg hadn’t noticed the change John would have collapsed. “John!” Sherlock cried out in alarm hurrying to the doctor’s side. The two men support John between them.

“I’m alright, just need to sit for a moment.” John hisses through clenched teeth as he is led to a car and made to sit.

“Just stay here, I’ll finish with Lestrade and we’ll go home.” Sherlock tells the doctor caressing his face.

John nod through the haze that is building in his vision, “No rush.” He assures his friend.

Sherlock give him a long look before moving back to the body. Greg looks reluctant but follows.

John closes his eyes willing himself better but it seems it’s only getting worse. Darkness is edging his consciousness and he struggling to draw a proper breath. John can’t stop the shaking his body has taken on or the sweat beading on his forehead. As he struggles to stay awake fear creeps into his thoughts. John feels himself drawing away being pushed aside, by what or who is unknown but it’s not a good feeling.

“No.” John growls his mouth barely moving as he collapses on his side. Darkness takes over engulfing him, muffling the world completely.


	14. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my good readers. Your lovely comments are inspiring and warm my heart every time. It pains me to post this next chapter because of the angst and heartbreak that it brought on. Even as I typed it I cried so I warn you be aware and I'm sorry in advance.

“So the mother,” Greg repeats rubbing his forehead, “are you certain?”

Sherlock doesn’t bother restraining the sound sigh of exasperation followed by a glare. “I’ve already explained in great detail and give overwhelming evidence towards the suspect,” he says irritably, “now if you don’t need me any longer I wish to get my doctor home.” Sherlock doesn’t wait for a reply from the D.I. before turning with a dramatic flutter of his coat and walks away.

Lestrade closes his eyes and sighs thinking over the hell he’ll be going through with this information. Opening his eyes again he sees Sherlock has stopped short and staring in the distance with a look of confusion. Stepping closer Greg opens his mouth to question him.

“John?” The D.I. hears Sherlock say.

Equally confused Greg looks to the car where they had set the doctor only to find the vehicle empty.

“John!” Sherlock cries sounding close to hysteria hurrying closer to the open door of the car.

“Sherlock calm down. John’s probably taken a cab home since he wasn’t feeling good.”

Sherlock shakes his head, looking around quickly, “he wouldn’t leave without saying anything.” He insists.

Lestrade knows this is true especially after the conversation he had with the man earlier. John knows that Sherlock is on edge and wouldn’t want to further that anxiety by pulling a stunt like this willingly.

Glancing around the D.I. spots an up and coming officer standing guard by the caution tape. Going over to him Greg addresses the man, “did you happen to see where Dr. Watson went?”

The young man nods, “he left not ten minutes ago heading for the street and hailed a cab.” He answers.

Greg thanks the man and glances over at Sherlock and sees his cell pressed to his ear. With every passing second no one answer Sherlock grew more and more agitated. “John, please I need you to call and tell me where you are!” The man has given up on keeping his neutral expression, showing off his intense worry.

“Sherlock, I’m sure he’s fine.” Lestrade assures more for himself than the frantic man before him.

Sherlock isn’t listening his phone is to his head again but his time his call is answered. “I need you to find John,” he shouts over the line, “no there is no time explain just find him.” He hangs up.

“Sherlock he probably went home,” the D.I. tries, “I’ll give you a lift.”

Sherlock doesn’t argue as the two get in the car and speed through London.

“Don’t worry Sherlock I’m sure John is fine.” Greg says but his words sound hallow and he wishes his car could go faster without breaking speed limits.

Sherlock says nothing, his eyes staring straight ahead.

Lestrade doesn’t speak again and barely gets the car stopped before the tall man is out, sprinting for the flat.

“Please John be here.” Greg prays as he follows.

“John!” Sherlock’s hysterical screams can be heard and the D.I. knows that his praying has done no good.

***

_John is gone?_

_John is GONE!_

_Where is he?_

_Where would he go?_

_Where did he go?_

Sherlock can barely form a coherent thought as his brain spins in a chaotic mess. Never in his life has he ever felt this overwhelming frantic despair. His doctor is missing and no amount of searching seemed to help. Nobody seemed capable in helping either. Mycroft, with all his connections, had nothing, could find nothing! Lestrade is never any help in the first place.

Sherlock went everywhere, trying every possibility. Every time nothing turned up his mind devolved further. He can’t stop moving, he’s breathing is erratic, and his body is shaking uncontrollably. Sherlock felt like he is on a really bad high and can’t fight off the panic that is setting in.

“Sherlock,” Greg speaks and his voice is grating on every never the tall man has left.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock speaks in low warning tone, “at this moment in time your input is not need nor is your presence so would you kindly shove off!” He shouts the last words. There are people staring but the detective doesn’t care.

“Sherlock,” the D.I. tries again and this time Sherlock can’t hold back.

“No Gregory! No, I will not calm down, no I won’t think positively! For over two years he was gone and now he’s gone again without a word, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do? I CAN’T DO IT, NOT AGAIN! I can’t…not again…” Sherlock voice cracks and tears are streaming down his face, “I feel so helpless and I can’t do anything about it, I just need to find him. I don’t care how I do it or who helps me. I just need to find him. I can’t live without him…”

Greg seems at a loss, he’s openly staring at Sherlock with shock and pity as are a majority of other people.

“I can’t,” Sherlock whispers collapsing to his knees.

He’s entire being is so frayed any amount of movement will tear him apart. He can’t function and he doesn’t understand what his body is doing anymore. There is so much pain that it feels as if John is still dead and nothing can bring him back.

Warm hands touch his back but Sherlock barely notices them. He feels so disconnected to his body but at the same time nothing has ever felt so raw.

“Sherlock,” the D.I.’s voice murmurs and Sherlock finds himself pulled into an embrace.

The hug isn’t entirely unwelcomed and the taller man didn’t realize how cold he was until Greg’s body heat is seeping into him. The press of the other man’s body on him causes Sherlock to sag into him and cry. He doesn’t care how this is breaking every rule he has ever had. Sherlock had crossed that line when he let John move in.

“Let’s get you home,” Lestrade mutters when Sherlock pulls away from him. The other makes a protesting sound but the D.I. hushes him. “We’re not giving up on John but you are exhausted and need rest, you’ll feel better.

Sherlock doubts this but suddenly all his energy is gone and can only follow.

 

Sherlock can only stare up at the dark windows of 221B Baker Street. Tightness is building in his chest and he’s finding it hard to breathe. A hand on his arm suddenly grounds him, bringing him back from the edge of a panic attack. Looking over Sherlock sees Greg give an encouraging smile.

“We’re not giving up,” the D.I. assures, “I’ll keep looking.”

Sherlock nods and pushes himself out of the car.

“You want me to walk you up?” The other man asks.

Sherlock knows his usual response would be a snapping insult but at the moment he just shakes his head and doesn’t wait for the man to speak again as he heads for the looming door.

Sherlock hears Lestrade’s vehicle drive away and contemplates going out again to search but his body feels so weak that he takes everything not to collapse on the ground right now.

Staggering for the door he leans heavily against the frame, fumbling for his keys. It took some minutes before Sherlock’s shaking hands are able to function enough to get the keys in the lock and the door open. Inside with the door firmly shut behind him, he uses the wall to climb the stairs.

The whole building is silent. Mrs. Hudson had gone away for some time with her sister so Sherlock is completely alone. Inside the flat he looks around uncertain. The air smells of a slight chemical tang and tea.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice carries through the flat.

There is no one to answer the pitiful call. Fresh tears course down his face as he shuffles further in dropping coat and scarf on the floor as he passes into the kitchen. Going from room to room he still turns up nothing. No warm, sturdy body of a loveable ex-army doctor with distasteful jumpers and genuine smiles.

Sherlock pauses at the bottom of the stairs up to John’s room though it isn’t the doctor’s room much of late.

“John.” The sobs thicken his voice near unrecognizable.

Pushing himself Sherlock climbs the stairs slowly using the wall. Only the will to occupy space John had inhabited drives him. A faint hope hardens in his chest though he knows the unlikely hood of the doctor being up here. The door isn’t shut, not completely and Sherlock barely brushes it to push it open.

The room is empty.

Sherlock isn’t surprised but that doesn’t stop him from falling to his knees, his strength leaving him completely. He is a ruin, broken by the truth before him. His doctor is gone and it may be forever. It hadn’t even been a day but Sherlock felt the last two years come back in full force.

John’s broken and bleeding body on the cement with sightless blue eyes staring up at the sky. Blood in that beautiful greying blonde hair, blood seeping everywhere with no way to stop it.

Sherlock’s vision blurs and there’s a sound echoing off the walls of gasping sobs. It takes him a moment to realize though sounds are coming from him. Crawling forward Sherlock drags himself on to the bed, the mattress stale. It hadn’t been used since John came home but his scent lingered, embedded.

This is a place where his John had slept.

Sherlock remembered the painful days after the doctor’s Fall. He had checked out mostly only functioning enough to locate his past dealers and the liquor store. Sherlock shut himself in his room with nothing to look forward to but the pain numbing nothingness of drugs though within days they stopped numbing and enhanced. Like Lestrade, Sherlock drank until he blacked out from an alcoholic haze.

After weeks of bare existences Sherlock realized his only goal for the remainder of his life; finding Moriarty and killing him.

Now there is nothing to look forward to, there is no Moriarty to punish. John is gone and there is nothing to go on that will lead to the man. Sherlock inhales deeply from the duvet and searching for the pillows. Drawing one closer he wraps himself around it, wishing for the warmth of a body. John’s cheap shampoo still clings to the fabric and Sherlock buries his head in it wanting to be immersed.

Falling asleep is nothing and Sherlock welcomes the darkness hoping it lasts forever if it means not having to feel the pain of John’s loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Say Something by A Great Big World ft. Christina Aguilera while I was writing this and it didn't help. Thank you for reading and I would love to hear your reviews.


	15. Strange Family

John is struggling to breath. Water is trying to fill his lungs and his chest feels about ready to burst from the pressure. No amount of yelling receives an returned assurance. John’s body feels thick and not totally in his control. The heavy clothing wrapped around him is threatening to drag him down.

He can hear whispered voices around him and flashes of light every now and then but nothing to indicate where he is or anyway to escape the suffocating pitch.

“Sherlock!” John’s voice calls echoing off into the unknown.

Warm spreads over him in a dreadful seeping feeling and his fear spikes uncomfortably.

“Sherlock!”

He doesn’t know how he wound up here and doesn’t know how to get the help he needs. Nothing makes sense. It seems everything John thought and knows has abandoned him. He feels nothing but helpless and hopeless and alone. So utterly alone. The terror coursing through him is incredibly tense, snaring his veins.

“SHERLOCK!”

***

Mycroft is at a loss of what to do. He had never seen his brother is this sort of way before not even in the younger Holmes’ pursuit of Moriarty. When Sherlock was on his death mission to end the criminal web Moriarty had created the man still held back a majority of his emotions. Sherlock now had abandoned every rule he had ever held becoming  the very definition of despair. He had opened a flood gate to his deeply buried feelings.

Mycroft didn’t know how to help he had exhausted every avenue in the search for the doctor but they lead nowhere. CCTV only showed so much before losing John to the crowds of London. He had even looked into the remnant supporters of Moriarty’s but there is nothing. Every turn he took came up empty and it is excruciatingly irritating.

“Do you think it could be the whole brainwashing thing?” Greg asks.

Sherlock had briefly told them about John’s episode of the roof of the hospital and Mycroft now considered it. In Sherlock’s recollection it had sounded as if Moriarty had created a defenseless child but could there be more to that personality that wasn’t shown?

“We won’t know for sure until we find the doctor.” The elder man told the D.I. It is the truth, they can’t simply jump to conclusions without the steadfast evidence of hard proof though it seemed that evidence did nothing when it concerned Moriarty.  

Lestrade huffs, “If we find John.” He mutters quietly under his breath.

Mycroft bites his lip to keep from speaking. He doesn’t like hearing those words from his lover, it signals that the man is nearing to giving up and it hasn’t even been a day. Mycroft isn’t about to give up so easily not when the looming pressure of both men he loves is hanging in the balance. Neither Greg nor Sherlock would survive the loss of John, not again.

“We will find him.” Mycroft assures his determination in every aspect of him.

He has agents all over the city scouring  every possible location. Mycroft is on the brink of going out himself to join in the search. He has to physically remind himself that he isn’t one for leg work and John isn’t a priority. It seems more genuine in his head but even then the Ice Man doesn’t believe it.

“Sentiment,” Mycroft growls to himself.

John isn’t just a asset anymore. He had wormed himself into every part of the elder Holmes life and now he can’t imagine his life without the man in some edge of it. First Sherlock had become intrigued by the army doctor and then Lestrade befriended the man. The two most important people had been effected by John and there was no way to remedy that. Not that he wanted that change when the doctor made the two men happy.

The four of them had become somewhat of a family.

“We will find him.” Mycroft says again.

***

Sherlock’s break down is something Greg had never wanted to see again. He had seen the younger Holmes at so many different stages in his life but this was one of the worst. Sherlock’s addict days hadn’t been anything like this even John’s Fall hadn’t evoked anything like this.

Sherlock is a wreck.

Lestrade can’t do much but keep the man moving, keep him breathing. Neither of the Holmes’ needed to tell the D.I. but he knew Sherlock had been on the brink of suicide before finding John. He loves them for trying to save him from that heart ache but he’s not as naïve as they would like him to be.

John’s disappearance is the final straw and Greg knows if he isn’t found and soon things will be going drastic in a limited amount of time. They are all breaking, all in ruin over the missing corner of their square that had only just mended.

Lestrade can the strain that it is putting on Mycroft, his icy exterior is on the point of collapse. The elder Holmes cares more than he is likely to admit. He worries not only for John but for Sherlock and Greg, the D.I. can see that clearly. He’s not sure if it’s influence on the man or a combined effort from all involved. Either way they need John back.

Greg hates himself at the moment, he is so close to giving up and it hurts. He feels so hopeless and can’t find anything to steel himself against the on slaughter of emotion pelting him from all directions. He doesn’t know what to do so far any efforts in locating the doctor have been fruitless even CCTV cameras had been unsuccessful.

Greg shakes his head. This is John they are searching, kindly ex-army doctor John. The man is like a brother to Lestrade. Growling quietly to himself the D.I. pushes aside all his doubts and guilty thoughts. Now is not the time to feel sorry for himself John is in real trouble and in need of strong support.

“We will find him.” Greg says and feeling the approving eyes of Mycroft on him.

They are going to find the doctor and get down to what is going on. Something was going on and had something to do with John’s miraculous comeback. Moriarty is definitely involved there is no denying that. Was it a mission of revenge or something a little sinister? Who can be sure. Greg didn’t like this guessing game but he is going to do everything in his power to find out the truth even if it meant losing John forever.


	16. Returned

Sherlock doesn’t dream, his exhausted mind goes into hibernation as it tries to cope with the taxing emotions ruling his carefully maintained vessel. Though the last few years it had become less of a vessel or transport and more of a humanoid being. Thanks to John the genius’s easily controlled feelings are wreaking havoc.

Sherlock isn’t even sure he is sleeping, more like hovering in a near conscious state either way when he wakes to complete darkness he doesn’t feel rested. A splitting headache is pulsating and his mouth is very dry. His whole being aches and Sherlock feels it down to his soul. A noise from downstairs is what woke him.

It snaps him from the dozing he had been doing and startles him to his feet with barely any recognition he had heard something. It is a muffled creak from worn floor boards and the sound of a door being opened that prompts him into action.

His mind jumps to an intruder. Sherlock’s pain are ignored as he hurries down the stairs somehow managing to be quiet. Shuffling feet in the living room tell him that an intruder is indeed in the flat. With little thought on a weapon Sherlock blindly creeps for the living room and is startled when a light is turned on. It blinds him for a moment.

“Sherlock?”

The familiar voice that has comforted Sherlock at every turn comes to him and Sherlock is frozen staring at the apparition in front of him as his vision clears. He barely believes what he is seeing.

John, his doctor, his friend, his lover, his flat mate, and so many other things is standing before him. Sherlock throws himself forward wrapping around the shorter man. He had almost given the man up for loss after being without him for so long and he felt guilt swell within him.

“John.” He cries into the other man’s neck, tears streaming from his eyes. Sherlock clings to the man feeling his mind quieting after hours of constant motion. Every thought dwindles until only those focused on John remain.

“Sherlock,” John sighs sagging against the taller man.

Sherlock feels the small doctor shaking in his hold and notes the smell of the sewers coming from him. “Where did you go?” He asks pulling away to look at John’s face. He can see the exhaustion and confusion in the other man’s features.

John shakes his head. “I don’t know, I…I can’t remember. One minute I’m trying not to get sick inside that car the next I’m waking up in a sewer drain on the outskirts of the city.” He says tightening his hold on Sherlock’s shirt. John’s legs are barely holding him up.

Sherlock pulls away from John and puts an arm to support the unsteady man. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says.

They make their way slowly to the small bathroom. Carefully Sherlock sets John down on the toilet seat and goes to pull off the other man’s clothes. The detective looks over the state of his doctor. John is shaking visibly, his clothes are streaked in grim and blood.

“It’s not mine.” John whispers.

Sherlock glances to the man’s face and sees the confusion on his face.

“What is happening to me, Sherlock?” John asks his voice tight and Sherlock can see the tears gathering in his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out John.” Sherlock murmurs and believe it with everything in his body. He will do everything within his power to stop whatever is happening to John. “Right now we’ll do what we can.” It is strange being the one comforting when John is usually designated for that position

John nods and twists his fingers together seeming to be trying to still the shaking. Sherlock pulled at John’s shoes tossing them into the kitchen along with his trousers and followed by underwear, a jacket, and shirt. John remained on the toilet seat naked and shaking. New cuts and bruises are sprouting on various parts of his skin. Dirt and grim coated his usually healthy skin.

“You walked awhile,” Sherlock speaks quietly as he turns on the shower, “after you took the cab from the crime scene you walked. What I can see from the dried blood on your knuckles is that you hit someone unprovoked and they fought back.” He lifts one of John’s hands examining the bloodied knuckles.

“Male, about five ten, heavier set. You beat him judging by the minimal damage you have sustained.” Sherlock can read all of this from the blood on John’s hand.

The way the hand is covered in blood on one side more than the other say that John was hitting his target at an upward angle suggesting a taller person. Going off the marks on the doctor Sherlock can see the bruises are consistent for a heavier blow and wider hand.

“But did I kill him?” John asks quietly.

Sherlock’s throat tightens at the despair filled tone John uses, “I don’t know.” He answers honestly. He wishes he can reassure the doctor but he can’t without lying.

John nods knowingly and slowly stands, using the wall to help him.

Sherlock steps forward and supports the man. “Will you be alright alone?” He asks pulling the shower curtain aside.

John leans heavily into the taller man and eyes the shallow bottom of the tub, “I don’t think so.”

Sherlock knows John’s answer already and can see how exhausted he is. Without another word Sherlock rids himself of clothes and helps John into the shower. The doctor’s smaller body shakes with the effort leaning fully against Sherlock under the spray.

“I’m so tired.” He admits but the genius already knew.

“Just rest I’ll take care of you.” Sherlock whispers in John’s ear reaching for the shampoo and conditioner.

The taller man took his time messaging John’s hair wanting to rinse all the evidence of the mysterious adventures that had occurred. Once most of the grim and blood is gone from the doctor Sherlock can see the vibrant coloring of the bruises emerging. In the two years John had been missing he had lost the golden tan but is still much dark then Sherlock and the bruises seem to stand out more.

With John’s hair clean Sherlock went for his body wash and the doctor hums.

“I’ll smell like you.” He murmurs sounding near sleeping even whilst standing up.

“As it should be.” Sherlock replies and begins the final touches.

This is the man he loves, one that is far superior to him but has chosen to return that love. Sherlock isn’t going to let John out of sight for a while when he has any lingering fear that the man might slip away again. He feels so possessive and protective of John that he will do anything within his power to keep him from disappearing in fear that he may never come back.

After several more minutes the taller man deems John clean with all traces, but the bruising of course, gone. Sherlock reaches to turn off the shower when the smaller man shifts, turning into Sherlock’s chest. John hugs Sherlock. He tightens around the taller man and draws him in.

“I’m so scared Sherlock.” The ex-soldier mutters into the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock’s heart plummets. John is a soldier even after all these years but all these things happening to him, beyond his control, are taken their toll. John is the brave one, the strong one as well as the tender and gentle one but this…this is overwhelming.

Sherlock feels his own fear spike with John’s confession. Before the Fall Sherlock relied on the solid doctor because the man never led him astray. Now it is Sherlock turn to be the one in charge and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he should proceed. The first task is to get John in a safe place; one where he will be comfortable and out of harm’s way.

“As am I John, as am I.” Sherlock tells him honestly turning the water off and pulling open the curtain.

Getting John from the bathroom to the bedroom took some minutes but when they manage Sherlock setting the other man down clothed in nothing but a towel. John is too tired to protest as Sherlock searches around for clothes and watches the other man move about.

Sherlock finally locates a pair of bottoms knowing John prefers to sleep mostly naked. Helping the older man Sherlock slides them on and eases John down on to the bed. Covering himself in sleeping clothes Sherlock pulls on his dressing gown.

“I’ll make some tea, I’ll be not a moment.” Sherlock tells him before lightly kissing his forehead and leaving the room.

Sherlock wants something a little stronger at the moment but tea is John’s go to drink even in the highest of stressed situations. Sherlock isn’t one for making tea finding the task tedious but for John it is different. Sherlock fills the kettle and sets it up to boil before looking for mugs and tea. With everything ready Sherlock leans against the counter and scans the room around him.

 The flat seems to close in and the noise from the outside world dims. It almost feel as if the flat has been cut off from reality and the world has no place in it. Sherlock wants it to be this way. John needs a place away from the world for a while, some place he won’t be afraid. Sherlock doesn’t want to resort to the dire escape plan but the ever looming question mark made the idea seem better and better.

The slightly building whistle of the kettle drawing Sherlock’s attention. Automatically Sherlock fills the mugs and adds the tea. He gives the tea a little extra care with the appropriate sugar and milk additions. With that finished Sherlock returns to the room to find John fast asleep.

It is exactly what Sherlock was hoping for. He smiles sadly at the man on the bed, setting the steaming mugs on the side table. Leaning over Sherlock kisses John’s cheek letting his lips linger on the skin for a moment longer before pulling away and backing for the door. Looking over the sleeping man slowly Sherlock finds his phone on the table behind him.

Pressing the second number on speed dial Sherlock listens to the ringing. Mycroft answers on the third ring.

“Brother dear I know you are manic in your search for John but calling me will not find him any faster. The moment I have news for you I will call.” The elder Holmes says over the line.

Sherlock doesn’t interrupt letting the man finish, “John’s home,” he tells him, hearing a sharp intake of breathe, “he came home about an hour ago.”

“That is excellent news was he forth coming with any information on his whereabouts?” Mycroft asks clearly surprised by the news.

“He doesn’t remember. What I could deduce, was minimal, but it gave me a few clues. John said he woke up in a sewer drain outside of the city but as I said he doesn’t remember.” Sherlock answers knowing he brother won’t be satisfied with that amount of information.

There is a quiet noise of protest and a sound of static before a breathless Lestrade begins to speak, “John’s home? Is he alright? What is the bloody hell happened, had he said? Can I speak to him?”

Sherlock holds back the chuckle as he hears his brother huffing in the background clearly disliking having his phone taken from him. “Yes, John is home and safe. He is a little beat up but nothing major and he can’t quiet remember what happened. As for talking to him, no, now is not the best of time. John came home exhausted barely able to keep upright so he’s sleep and I don’t wish to disturb him.” He answers every question that had been fired at him.

There’s a loud sigh of relief, “he’s alright.” The D.I. murmurs seeming to need to be reassured.

“If you wish, you may stop by tomorrow to check yourself.” Sherlock says not wanting Lestrade or his brother’s involvement but it seems that is the only course of action available to him.

“I want to see him, “the D.I. says, “we’ll come by tomorrow.”

“I’m sure John will appreciate that.” Sherlock tells him.

There’s another shuffle and Mycroft comes back to the phone, “forgive Gregory’s enthusiasm he hasn’t been able to do much since John’s disappearance.”

Sherlock understands completely and even feels glad to have the D.I. as an asset. “I reluctantly feel ashamed of my behavior towards him earlier.” He confesses.

“He did mention your conduct but in light of the circumstances he isn’t taking it personally by any means.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock is quiet for a moment, “we need to talk tomorrow.” It’s obvious but he feels that it needs to be said out loud.

Mycroft lets out a huff, “yes of course, will John be included in this conversation?”

Before John, Sherlock wouldn’t have had a problem keeping information to himself but now, “I won’t keep this from him.” He answers.

“Sentiment my dear brother,” Mycroft chuckles, “look at what it has done to us.”

Sherlock snorts and listens as the line goes dead. Sliding the phone into his pocket he looks to see John still fast asleep on the bed. Sherlock watches before going in and laying down in the other side, facing the doctor.

Tomorrow they will be having a long conversation and Sherlock isn’t sure how it was to go. Everything has changed so much since John Fell and it isn’t going back to how it used to be. Sherlock only wants for things to start off where they left off. Someone is sabotaging that wish and Sherlock isn’t going to give up until things fall into place and that person is found.


	17. Truths

Greg let out a sigh of relief when Mycroft gets off the phone. John is at home safe though a little worse for wear but nothing too serious.

“He’s home.” Mycroft murmurs moving over to where Lestrade is sitting behind a CCTV computer.

The D.I. smiles up at his lover and leans back into the other man. “Thank God for that.” He says and feels the worry slips back into him once again becoming a simmer.

Mycroft gives a strained smile, “I only wish that were the least of our worries.”

Greg let his smile vanish. It is true that they still have a number of unanswered questions and until they are revealed nothing can go back to normal.

“Do you think Moriarty is behind John’s disappearance?” Lestrade asks and watches Mycroft shift uncomfortably.

The longer they are together the harder it is for Mycroft to hide anything from the D.I. and now it seems he isn’t even trying. Greg narrows his eyes knowing the elder Holmes is hiding something. “What is it?” He questions knowing he isn’t going to like whatever his partner has to say.

“I don’t believe Moriarty is fully behind John’s behavior,” Mycroft replies slowing choosing his words carefully, “because he is no longer a factor in the equation.”

Lestrade glares, “Mycroft.” He says in a warning tone.

Releasing a heavy breath the government official gives the other man a steady look. “That night Sherlock found John he killed Moriarty.”

Greg is silent as he processes the information. He had spent the last few weeks directing all his resources towards finding Moriarty and now he’s being told that the bastards’ been dead for weeks! “How long have you known?” He asks wanting to know how long this secret had been going on.

Mycroft put on a guilty face, “since the first night John was in the hospital.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me,” the D.I. says trying to keep his voice level but his anger was winning out, “what you didn’t trust me or did you think I would arrest Sherlock? Are you fucking kidding me?” The emotion is boiling off Greg in an uncontrollable current.

“I’d rather give your brother a medal! That fucking psycho is dead but I want to know why you didn’t tell me? Don’t you trust me?” With that the anger is replaced with hurt.

Did Mycroft not trust Greg, they are supposed partners but at this moment it feels as if they are more like strangers. The agony blooms in Lestrade’s chest and Mycroft looks horrified.

“Gregory you are the only person on this planet is trust completely don’t ever think differently.” The elder Holmes says with honesty.

The D.I. scoffs standing to move away from the other man. “What am I supposed to think, when you can’t even tell me the truth about something this important? Do you even have a good excuse to why you lied anyway?”

Mycroft shook his head, “nothing will excuse this. Gregory as you know I haven’t been in any relationship’s like this, I know how I should act, in theory anyway, but I’ve been alone so long I don’t know how to act. I’m used to keeping things quiet, it comes with my job.”

Greg’s anger flares again, “you’re using your inexperience as a reason? I don’t care if you’ve never been in a relationship Mycroft its common human interaction with someone you say you love.”

The taller man pales and his eyes go wide. “I’m not using it as a reason I’m hoping you’ll understand what drives me and I do love you Gregory.”

“Not enough to tell me the truth when it concerns my best friend!” Lestrade spat clenching his fists.

Mycroft’s appearance changes rapidly and the famous ice man exterior slides into place. “Enough,” he hisses, “Detective Inspector I can’t allow you to aid any further in this investigation.”

“Excuse me?” Greg asks feeling his anger heating further.

Mycroft’s icy stance gives nothing. “You are too emotional and too involved to be any further help so from this point on the investigation will be led by me and my team, your assistance is no longer needed.” Without another word the taller man spins on his heels and is gone.

Lestrade is floored and angry. Not only had he been lied to and kept from the truth, but his own boyfriend kicked him out of John’s case! Deep down Greg’s knows he was unfair but when it comes to John or Sherlock it is all hands on deck no matter what.

“Prick.” Greg huffs and pushes down the guilt.

It isn’t their first fight but it is definitely the worst. Mycroft had never treated Greg so coldly and it stung. The pain from Mycroft’s departure brought tears to the D.I.’s eyes but he forces them back. Yes it hurt to be put down by his lover but their problems aren’t the main issues at the moment.

Sighing heavily and rubbing his throbbing head Greg leaves the room. It is early morning so the building is mostly quiet, he had been up all night with Mycroft scanning video feeds for the missing doctor. Now that the sun is rising and it would be a few hours before he’ll go check on John, Lestrade doesn’t know what to do with himself.

His body screamed for a pint something to dull the agony but Greg doesn’t have the strength nor the motivation to find a pub. Somehow he makes his way back to the flat he once called home. It had almost been a year since he had set foot in the gloomy place but he had kept paying the rent just in case.

Nothing had changed except for a thin layer of dust and the air is musty. The place is sad and terrible exactly the same way Lestrade feels, for the first time the flat feels like home.

Shrugging off his jacket he throws it to the couch sending up a cloud of dust. Greg covers his face and coughs, moving into the kitchen to escape. He knows there is no food but still he opens the fridge, no surprise there is nothing. Huffing in announce Greg slams it shut.

Turning he leans against it and slowly sinks to the floor, “I need a drink.” Lestrade breaths rubbing his head again.

At that moment Greg wishes he could call Mycroft just to hear his voice, just for the reassurance but at the same time the thought makes a flare of anger rush through him. He quickly ushers down the anger, Greg knew that when he started a relationship with Mycroft things were going to be difficult.

Mycroft is a unique man and is hard to understand but Greg had tried his hardest to know the man he loved. He knew the ice man had a reputation and had seen it at work but never directed at him. The coldness he had felt from Mycroft was indescribable but it left Greg destroyed.

Even when his ex-wife divorced him, he didn’t feel so ruined. Greg hated himself for feeling like this since he is the one that caused this. Yes, it hurt that Mycroft hadn’t confided in him but how could he accuse the man so harshly. Letting out a slow breath Greg leaned heavily into the fridge. The next time he saw Mycroft he will be apologizing profusely.

Until that time there would several hours of wallowing in self-pity and without touching a drop of alcohol to lessen the hours.

***

Striding from the room the ice man does everything to keep himself from looking back. He is the government for crying out loud, the man who refused sentiment and emotion. Even as these thoughts scroll through his head Mycroft wants to run back and gather the D.I. in his arms and apologize.

But the sting is there, the way Gregory had accused him of not trusting. How could he ask such a question when Mycroft had put all his trust in the man? Even Sherlock doesn’t have that!

_You did lie to him._

A small part of his brain argues and spurs anger as well as guilt. It isn’t that Mycroft doesn’t trust his partner, it’s his nature that had been engrained into him. He had been so good at keeping secrets that it had been his job for a majority of his adult life. Mycroft knows this aspect doesn’t excuse keeping the truth from Gregory though it seemed apologizing didn’t help and he had gone, mucking it up further, by excusing the man from continuing with the investigation.

For being a supposed genius Mycroft is an idiot, he had pushed the only man on the planet capable of loving him aside and put on the ice man façade, something he swore he would never do.

“I need a drink.” Mycroft muttered to himself climbing into the back of his car.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to act the common man to get the stiff drink that he needs at the moment. Pouring himself a large glass of very expensive scotch Mycroft settles into the backseat of the car as it pulls away and down the road. His thoughts are forced from the Gregory issue to the John Watson problem.

In the very near future he would be going over to comfort the man and hopefully come up with a solution. Since discovering the doctor Mycroft had been using his resources to uncover John’s mysterious behavior but the results were sadly unless, coming up with nothing.

There is one thing that is certain; Moriarty knew what he was doing and there is another involved that has yet to present itself.

John and Sherlock are still in danger and the advisory is a shadow. This frustrates Mycroft to no end, they can do very little until they know what they are facing and by the time that comes to light it may be too late to reverse the main plot. John is definitely a pawn in the end game; another thing that is certain. The doctor is a liability because of what appeared to be advanced brainwashing.

Mycroft had seen the effects of brainwashing and it is a dangerous mixture as well as something hard to break. It is a good thing John is so strong or it would be unlikely he would be able to come back fully. The true resilience of the ex-soldier’s strength will soon be put to the test.

Mycroft’s heart twinges with the knowledge that if he failed that not only would he lose a brother but the only man he has ever loved. A lot is residing on him and he is finding it somewhat hard to breathe.


	18. Planning

Everything is dark, shrouded and heavy. His body feels sluggish and slow but the world is speeding by in a blur. His mind is whirling chaos of loud incoherent thoughts though they all seem to be saying the same thing. They are urging him somewhere and he is anticipating the meeting.

Passing a noisy building with people lingering outside, he bumps into a solid body that slurs an apology. It angers him so much he reacts taking the man down in three hits with a few receiving blows. He tastes blood in his mouth but he spits it out and leaves the body crumpled on the ground.

Fast forward and his vision clears mostly. He’s standing in a darkened alley the light from a lone street lamp cast dramatic shadows. There is no sunlight and the low, distant rumble of cars can be heard but the world is silent beyond that. He can hear his only shallow breathing as if he had been running. His hands hurt and he can feel a drying warmth sticking to his face.

Where ever this place is it is the place he has been looking for. The place he was so eager to get to and now there is nothing but the waiting for the honored guest.

“My little soldier,” the sweet, bone chilling call comes and a figure emerges from the darkness. It’s a women and even the full lighting nothing of her face is shown. She glides forward, her heels clicking loudly off the alley walls. Her hand comes up and she walks her fingers up his chest and caresses his cheek.

“I’ve been watching you my sweet,” she whispers circling him.

He follows her with his eyes without moving his body, remaining quiet intent on listening to every word she spoke. He can’t remember who she is but every nerve is alert.

She comes fully around laying her hand flat on his chest kneading the clothed skin gently, “you’ve been playing house my pet and well…it’s getting a little tedious.” The women purred leaning and using her free hand to stroke the hair on his forehead.

Her fingers drifts down touching the pained spots. “Been playing I see, not totally tamed by that gorgeous detective.” She smiles pressing down on the places.

He winces but doesn’t retreat. He knows that if he does things can get much worse. The woman before him was dangerous, he didn’t need to know or remember who she is to know that.

Her colorless eyes travel over him slowly before she steps back, “but my lovely play time is over. You dear have your part as does that delicious Sherly.”

He wants to ask so many questions but deep down he already knows what she’s talking about.

She moves closer again and large smile on her face, “shall we begin?”

 

John woke suddenly sitting straight up in the bed, looking around wide eyed. The woman’s face flashes through his mind once more before fading. He sitting there a moment trying to bring the image back but there is nothing to pull forward.

When John gives up his body remembers the lost hours and pain erupts through him. Falling back on to the bed he lets his body relax and the pain recedes to a throb. John stares up at the ceiling and it takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t his room that he is in.

Sitting up slowly John spots Sherlock leaning in the doorway watching. The taller man is wearing his dressing gown which is tied loosely around his waist and a naked chest is peeking through the folds. His hair is ruffled and jutting in every direction but the heavy, purpling bags under his eyes speak volumes of the stress over the last couple of days.

Settling against the headboard of the bed the doctor gives the other man a weak smile. Sherlock returns the smile and pushes himself forward, crawling up the bed towards John. Bringing his face up to the shorter man Sherlock slowly kisses John.

The kiss is gentle and is more of a reassurance than anything but John reveals in the contact, dragging Sherlock closer. John doesn’t know what is going on with him and he needs his friends right now to ground him back to reality. The taller man’s hands roam over John’s skin, leaving tingling trails.

“John.” Sherlock breathes pulling away and resting his forehead on John’s.

The exhaustion radiating off of Sherlock is heavy and the worry fills his eyes alongside a spark of relief and fear. John’s heart plummets seeing those emotions, in the weeks he had returned Sherlock hadn’t held any of his emotions back but it still is shocking to see them rolling off him.

“Hush, love. I alright.” John tries but knows that his lover won’t believe it.

Sherlock huffs in annoyance, “lie, now tell me about your dream.” He demands.

John leans his head back against the headboard kneading the other man’s sides slowly. “I can’t remember,” He answers ignoring the disbelieving glare, “I try to remember but it’s like something else is blocking what I dream…it’s frustrating.”

Sherlock’s face softens and his worried lines deepen. “We’ll figure this out.” he promises.

That is one thing John is sure of, he knows that Sherlock won’t give up on him even if everything is working against them. John smiles pulling Sherlock closer and rests his head in the crook of the other man’s neck. “I know we will.”

They are silent as they drink in each other, absorbing each other.

“How are you feeling?” Sherlock whispers pulling away slightly.

John ignores the throbbing of his hands and his face. “I’m alright.” Of course it doesn’t work on the deducting machine before him.

Sherlock gives him a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe him.

“My hands hurt a little but it’s manageable.” He assures adding a smile.

Sherlock looks skeptical but doesn’t push. Carefully he pulls himself off his lover’s lap. “Mycroft and Lestrade will be coming over later, we have things to discuss.”

John looks hard at the man and realizes that the conversation can be about one thing. “Will I be included in this discussion?” He asks quietly.

Sherlock freezes but John has lowered his eyes and doesn’t look at the other man. He knows Sherlock well enough to consider it a possibility. He tried to give Sherlock to benefit of the doubt but he never wanted the man to change.

When the silent minutes drug on John found the courage to look up and saw exactly what he expected; Sherlock looked guilty.

“I will admit the thought crossed my mind for a moment,” he says softly making his eyes stay on John’s, “but I couldn’t do that to you, you don’t deserve that.”

Hearing that John felt a bubbling warmth welling in his chest, “Sherlock.” He breathes smiling.

Sherlock blinks a few times looking slightly confused, “not good?” He asks sounding very uncertain.

John can’t help but laugh and grabs the taller man, kissing him soundly. “Very good.” He said releasing his lover.

Sherlock straightens himself trying to hide the redness heating his cheeks. “Obviously.” He whispers quietly before clearing his throat, “Lestrade is quiet concerned with your wellbeing though it seems my assurance has helped him.”

John’s smile widens, “it will be good to see him again.” His smile fades slowly and he becomes solemn again, “what are we going to do Sherlock?”

The taller man sighs and sits back down on the bed. “On this I don’t know John,” he says, “I’ve never been in something like this and for once I don’t know what to do.”

Sherlock must have seen the look of dismay on John’s face because the man is suddenly cradling the doctor.

“Whatever it is, whatever happens we’ll face it together.” He promises pulling the smaller man into his lap with ease.

In any other situation John’s soldier would come out in him to fortify his mind but he is so raw from everything that there’s barely anything felt to be defended.

“Mycroft will know what to do.” Sherlock whispers and John’s heart sinks.

Sherlock has faith in his older brother but never had he put so much trust in the elder Holmes. It has taken a lot to push Sherlock to this point.

“Let’s hope so.” John murmurs.

They lean into each other and bask in the comfort but feel the growing anxiety of what was to come. John nestles in Sherlock’s warmth wishing the moment could last longer.  He feels safe in the lanky man’s arms and he knows it’s going to end very soon.

_Pull yourself together John! You are a soldier!_

_Were, you were a soldier._

His mind argues with itself and he sighs feeling the stomach wrenching anticipation. He needs to get up and start moving. “I need a shower before they show up.” He mumbles ruffling the other man’s hair to receive an affectionate smirk.

Sherlock releases him enough to let the smaller man stand to hobble over to the bathroom.

John pauses at the mirror to assess his injuries. There were deep muscle bruises on one side his face with other small cuts and bruises littering his body. Glance over his hands he grimaces at the damage done there. The injuries aren’t that bad but John Is afraid to learn what was to come. He just wants everything to go back to how it was before the Fall, well not completely how is was, but he wants things to become somewhat normal again.

Letting out a heavy breath John turns on the shower and tests the water until it starts to steam in the room. Sheading his bottoms the doctor gets under the spray and sighs as the glorious warmth soaks him. Ever since being invalid home John had overcompensated in abusing the indoor plumbing. Afghanistan isn’t known for exquisite showers or toilets. John can’t help but overindulge in heated water and flushing loos.

The water sooths his battered body, helping loosen wound muscles, and message the throbbing cuts. John stands under the spray enjoying the refreshing feeling spreading over his skin. Nearly fully relaxed John began cleaning himself lathering himself generously as if the clean away the uncertainty and doubts lodged in his mind. The rhythmic beating of the water coursing over his skin starts to lull him into a floating existence, leaving him feeling calm. John smiles to himself before reality crashes head first into him again and he lets the smile fade.

Reluctantly the doctor ends the fantasy bringing the world back to him. John can hear quiet voices through the door and he knew that their guests had arrived. Quickly drying John returns to Sherlock’s room and recovers some of his clothes from the drawers he had adopted.

Steeling himself the soldier prepares to go to battle though it feels more like an execution. John doesn’t know what to expect and he feels no one else does either. It terrifies him. He doesn’t like being in a position where he doesn’t know what’s going on or what might happen. Right now he is a lose canon and everyone around him had a target painted on their backs. John protects people, that’s what he does, he easily cares and knowing he can cause the death of someone unintentionally makes him sick.

Breathing deeply and quailing his wayward emotions John brings forth the captain and exits the room. Upon opening the bedroom door all quiet conversations halt and a deafening silence presses against him. Sinking further John pushes forward and enters the living room.

Sherlock is standing behind his chair glaring at the other two in the living room. Mycroft and Greg are both standing as well and looking as nervous as John felt. Pushing away the anxiety the doctor barely glances at them before planting himself in his chair.

The silence stretches out longer and the tension in the room escalates. John scans the room and is surprised to see that a bit of Sherlock has rubbed off on him. He can see that Mycroft and Lestrade had a fight and they both feel guilt about it. Greg glances at Mycroft more often which suggest he feels he is the one who should apologies first, most likely he feels he was in the wrong. Mycroft shuffles away under the D.I.’s stare making it seem he is uncomfortable with the topic of the fight in question but still feels like he should apologize as well.

_I most likely caused that._

John thinks sadly. They are a strange little family and he is the one slowly tearing them apart.

“Would you all please fucking sit down, you’re making me nervous.” John snaps. It’s somewhat true but it adds little to the nauseating anxiety rolling in him already.

There’s several minutes of movement before everyone has a seat. Sherlock is perched on his chair while Greg and Mycroft share the couch though they are separated immensely by the middle cushion.

The silence creeps in again and everyone is looking everywhere but at John. That irritates him further. Groaning softly and rubbing his forehead John presses his fingers into his temples hoping to help with the pressure building in his head. “Someone please talk, please. I can’t stand this silence.”

Everyone shifts once again and all attention turns to Mycroft as he sits forward in his seat. “I’ll start by saying John, Greg and I are relieved that you returned safely.”

John sighs cutting off the other man, “Cut the shit Mycroft and get to the point.”

The elder Holmes lets out his own sigh. “You are not the first I have encountered that has been brainwashed.” The words hang in the air for a moment, “over the years I’ve had several agents returned to me in such a state. Most only had mild episodes while others were a little more affected. Luckily for us those didn’t cause too much damage.”

Lestrade choses that moment to speak, “and these men you were able to break the brainwashing?” He asks hopefully.

Mycroft glances at the man before answering, “Unfortunately we were unable to break the brainwashing, all the men died from complications. The only man to survive is now permanently in a mental institution and has no recollection of himself.”

“John?” Sherlock asks striding across the room to the other man and crouching before him.

John is shaking in his chair not from fear but from anger. James had done this to him. He was broken again and not like when he was sent home invalid, no this was deeper. John would be stuck with this threat hanging over him.

“John,” Sherlock whispers caressing the other man’s face, “come back to me.”

John’s eyes lock on to Sherlock and force himself to ease back into the moment. He is hyperventilating and hadn’t even realized it, his lungs are tight in his chest and every breath send pain through him. Sherlock’s hands are stroking John’s back as he whispers endearments.

“Love, breath for me. That’s it, small, little breathes.”

After some minutes the doctor’s breathing evens out and he relaxes slowly with Sherlock’s hands moving over his clothed skin.

“What are we going to do?” Greg asks breaking the silence.

Sherlock turns his head to listen to the other men but his hands are unrelenting as they sooth John.

Mycroft lets out a heavy breath, “I have thought long on this and in the end it is up to John,” everyone glances at the doctor, “My initial though was to wait it out, let whatever is going to happen, happen and deal with the consequences.”

“Not. Even. An. Option!” Sherlock growls his hands gripping John tightly.

Mycroft’s eye flick over at his brother in disapproval but he says nothing to him. “Yes, I am aware that it wasn’t the best decision but I was taking in all our options.” He assures the younger man but Sherlock still is grumbling under his breath. “John.” The elder man says.

John turns his head to fix his eyes on Mycroft.

They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before Mycroft speaks again; “The only thing I believe will be for the best is…trying to break the brainwashing.”

The words had barely left the man’s mouth before the other two in the room explode. They leapt to their feet, both turning to yell their protests at Mycroft though he seems afflicted, keeping his eyes trained on John.

“Shut up.” John says quietly but it is almost like he is yelling when the two instantly become silent. “How do you break a brainwashing?” He asks.

Mycroft grimaces. “Much the same way of brainwashing, it falls more along the lines of torture. We institute tactics that assault both physical and psychological to break down barriers in the mind but like I said each one has had complications. We trigger something and the body shuts down instantly.”

John looks at the floor for a moment, bringing his eyes back to Mycroft. “I’ll do it.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. Everyone in the room freezes.

“I was afraid you would say that.” Mycroft sighs sitting back in his seat.

Sherlock brings myself closer, hovering over the smaller man. “Please John, think about this I…” he doesn’t get a chance to continue when John’s captain’s voice erupts.

“I have thought about it! What would you have me do Sherlock? Give me a different option and we’ll do it.”  The doctor snaps.

Sherlock bites his lip looking like a child. “I just don’t want to lose you again.” He murmurs moving back.

John grabs the man pulling him into his lap. “I know,” he says kissing Sherlock on the forehead, “but what can we do, I’m a danger to everyone around me unless we do something?” They stay together, neither caring that they have an audience. John strokes Sherlock’s sides while the lanky man grips his shirt in an iron tight hold. The doctor looks to Mycroft who in turn is staring at Greg.

“When do we start?” The doctor asks.

The elder Holmes pulls his attention from the D.I. and stands. “As soon as possible. I have a car waiting for us.” He moves over to the coat rack and grabs up his coat and umbrella. Greg gives a weak smile before following suit. The two men don’t wait before opening the door to the flat and exiting.

Sherlock tightens against the doctor letting out a noise of despair.

John’s heart seizes at the sound but forces himself to calm. “Hush love, everything is going to be alright.” He coos cupping the other man’s face.

There are tears gathering in Sherlock’s eyes. “Don’t lie to me.” He mutters looking away from the doctor.

“Sherlock,” John says quietly and the man’s eyes snap to him, “we will get through this, together.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, “always.” He agrees before kissing John deeply.

After minutes of senseless, desperate kissing John forces the touches to slow before things escalate. Giving one final gentle kiss as they pull apart resting their foreheads together.

“I love you.” John says.

Sherlock is still for a moment before a smile spreads across his face, “and I love you.”

Smiling at each other Sherlock slides from John’s lap and helps the other man stand. They stare at each other for a long moment before John’s face becomes serious. “Let’s get this over with.”


	19. A Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been months since I posted and it's been a hard won battle getting anything written but I've finally got something so I decided to share.

Mycroft knows what John will say and he knows how his brother will react so he let them have their moment. It still amazes him that so much had changed because of John. Sherlock found someone to love and for someone to love him in return. Another outcome that came from John was Mycroft falling for Greg. He never thought that he would find someone he could tolerate let alone come to love. Greg is a unique man like John in many ways.

A warm hand touching his leg pulls Mycroft from his thinking. Glancing down at the hand he lets his eyes follow up the arm to the face looking at him.

Greg looks as distressed as Sherlock, his eyes are pleading for a safer solution. “I’m sorry.” The D.I. says keeping his eyes on the older man, “I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. I do know you and I know how you work. I shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud me.” He says his hand gripping Mycroft’s leg.

It shatters some of the ice over Mycroft’s heart to hear that. Normally it’s him who’s apologizing since he’s new at the whole relationship aspect but in this moment he loves Greg even more.

“I don’t want to change you My,” the D.I. adds with a weak smile.

Mycroft brings his hand up to grab Greg’s and laces their fingers together just as John speaks to him again.

“When do we start?”

Squeezing Greg’s hand gently Mycroft turns to look at the doctor. “As soon as possible. I have a car waiting for us.” He stands, gathers his things before leaving the flat. Greg is close behind.

They move down the stairs and head for the front door. Mycroft pauses to look at the D.I. Their eyes meet and Greg’s eyes widen in confusion before the older man pressed up against him. They collided with the wall and Greg was too overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion but not wholly unwelcomed.

Mycroft kissed the D.I. deeply, almost desperately. He passes all his withheld emotion on to the other man with a bruising force. He sucked and inhaled Greg nearly on the verge of devouring him. The inspector took everything given to him and gripped the man above him.

“Forgive me.” Mycroft whispers when he finally pulls away.

Greg gives him a confused look stroking his face slowly.

“Gregory forgive me for everything,” the ice man murmurs leaning in, “forgive me for everything that has happened and that may happen.”

The D.I. opens his mouth to question Mycroft but John and Sherlock decide to make an appearance. Mycroft gives him a hidden smile before stepping back and turning for the door. They all file out and into the waiting black SUV. Once everyone was in the vehicle took off. They all road in silence.

Mycroft felt the anxiety building as they drove further and further from Baker Street.

“John.” Sherlock chokes out.

“Hush,” the doctor coos, “quiet love, everything is going to be alright.”

Listening to the emotions in the other two nearly breaks Mycroft’s heart but he forces those emotions back. At this moment he needs to be strong, he needs to be the Ice Man and he damn well will be that man.

A shaking hand grabs his and squeezes none too gently. Glancing over Mycroft sees Greg barely holding himself together, moving his hand over, and lacing his fingers with the shaking appendage.

“Where are we going?” John asks.

Mycroft shifts in his seat to look at the doctor. “Wigmore Hall.” He answers.

John looks a little dazed for a moment before focusing again with a determined look in his eyes. “What’s in Wigmore Hall?” He asks.

“A secret underground facility,” Sherlock replies from his huddled position against John.

Mycroft glares at him not entirely surprised of his brother’s knowledge but turning his attention back to the doctor. “Yes, it is a secret underground facility where we did our initial testing of our past subjects.”

John nods knowingly his hand moving rhythmically through Sherlock’s hair and staring ahead at the road.

Mycroft them for a moment longer before facing the front again giving them some space for the remainder of the journey through it would a short trip.

No one spoke the air in the vehicle is thick with emotion and it takes everything Mycroft has to restrain himself and not get lost in it. He had never been so effect by those around him but these individuals, these people who effect his life in such a way were drowning him and he was willing to be sacrificed.

Mycroft’s eyes spot the entrance to the base and he takes a deep breath and scans the occupants, taking in every face, committing them to memory. Within seconds they dive into an underground parking structure and speed down the ramps. The orange fluorescents whisk by lighting them up before quickly throwing them into darkness as the tires thump along underneath them.

As expected the garage is empty and nothing intervenes as them plunge further down. Hitting the bottom floor the tires squeal as they swing around the corner heading towards a very solid back wall. The car does hint at slowing as it comes upon the wall and tension rise in the cab, still no one speaks.

Just as it looks as if they are going to become hotcakes the wall slides open showing a downward slope. They continue on and the passage closes behind them becoming a solid wall once again. Traveling for a few more minutes they finally come up on an open lift waiting for them.

The SUV came to a stop and everyone piled out. With all the occupants out the vehicle speeds away leaving them alone in the underground garage.

Mycroft steps forward heading for the lift and everyone follows. Moving inside the door remain open until the elder Holmes leans forward pressing his thumb to a scanner as another scanner scans his iris. With that complete the elevator doors slam shut and they descend quickly.

After a couple of minutes in silence Mycroft turns to the other men instigating his most emotionless face he can. “Once we reach the bottom there will be no further contact with Dr. Watson until we have succeeded. I will remain throughout the procedures without any personal interaction but you two will not be allowed. Do you understand?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes glaring his protest but keeps his mouth firmly shut. Greg looks ill and John’s face tenses but everyone remains silent.

“Very well,” Mycroft nods turning from them.

A few minutes later they come to a stop and the lift doors open relieving a nearly blinding white hall. Two men are waiting ahead of them dressed in heavy black armor and carrying large automatic guns.

“This is your last chance to go back John, once you step out of those doors you cannot back out.” Mycroft says staring straight ahead with his hands folded behind his back.

John glances over at the older man and his eyes scan the blank look before his squares his shoulders, stepping from the elevator.

Everyone follows the doctor stopping when one of the men moves forward. “Mr. Holmes, Detective Inspector if you would follow me please.” The man says gesturing towards a door.

Greg looks at Mycroft giving a sharp nod and following the other man. Sherlock squeezes John’s hand once last time before releasing him.

Mycroft waits until the door closes before the remaining men move down the hall without speaking. They come to the end of the hall and Mycroft presses a button, opening another elevator.

“Remain here and allow no one pass.” Mycroft instructs the guard as they step on to the lift.

The man grunts in reply and turns to face the hall before him.

John and Mycroft get on to the elevator and they start going down again.

“Why is there so much security?” John asks.

Mycroft looks to the other man. “This place holds many secrets that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, I cannot give you details of course.” 

The doctor nods.

“John I want you to know that I do wish there were different circumstances but there are none,” Mycroft says slowly, “I want to ask if you are perfectly aware of the consequences.”

John locks on the other man. The eyes don’t hold the warmth and security of the usually doctor, they are steeled and hard. Mycroft is surprised by the intensity of the look and it worries him slightly but in light of the situation he pushes it from his mind.

“Yes I am.” John answers.

Mycroft is satisfied with the answer and turns towards the lift doors.

A few minutes more go by before the elevator finally stops at the bottom, the doors open with a single bell chime and Mycroft moves to step out when a heavy blow knocks him to the floor. He can feel the warmth of blood oozing from his skull. He gasps and tries to move but the pain radiating from his head immobilizes him.

“It was almost too easy.”

He can hear John speaking but his brain is having a hard time focusing.

“I thought out of everyone you would be the one to notice but even the great Mycroft Holmes was fooled.”

The voice coming from above him sounded like John’s but it is different. A shoed foot kicks at his side and forces him on to his back.

“Mother will be so proud of me,” the voice is nearer and something is pressing against his throat, “I was instructed not to kill you but she said nothing about damaging you.”

Sound is getting more muffled, everything is starting to go dim, and to black.

***

His headache is splitting and the slightest noise is piercing but mother’s instructions were very clear and there was nothing to stop him.


	20. Everything Goes Wrong (of course it does)

“Sherlock,” Greg groans, “please sit down.”

The taller man had done nothing but pace since the door had been closed behind them and it was quickly driving the Detective insane.

Sherlock pauses long enough to throw a glare, “I will not sit.” There’s a hint of pout in there but he seems to be holding it back but just barely.

Greg sighs, rubbing his temples. “Your pacing does nothing for John.”

“Nor dose sitting around.”  Sherlock retorts.

They glare at each other before each settles once again.

“What else can we do?” The D.I. asks in a small voice.

Sherlock’s face falls into one of defeat and he slumps into a chair. “Nothing.” He whispers as a reply.

Greg hates to see the helplessness in the other man’s eyes but in this situation they are stuck. “I believe your brother will do everything within his power to bring John back.”

“What if it’s not enough?” Sherlock’s voice asks though it is small and sounds nothing like him.

Taking a deep breath Lestrade answers; “we’re not allowed to think like that.”

Sherlock frowns but say nothing else.

Greg opens his mouth to say something when the lights suddenly go out and a loud screeching alarm goes off. A red light comes on and blinks slowly. Sherlock jumps to his feet and heads for the door, shouting can be heard through the room. Before anyone can do much the door flies open and one of the guards appears.

“Remain in here until we understand what’s going on.” He doesn’t wait for a confirmation before leaving, not closing the door all the way.

Sherlock keeps moving forward and is out in the hall not a second later.

“Sherlock!” Greg calls hurrying after the other man.

The taller man is moving away from where the rest are heading.

“Sherlock.” Lestrade tries again following and moving around the others heading the opposite direction.

Sherlock moves through a door and Greg makes it there seconds later.

“Sherlock what are you doing?” He asks watching the man moving a chair against the wall and standing on it.

Sherlock pulls something from his pocket and begins doing something with the air vent above their heads. “Whatever is going on I believe it has something to do with John and John is on the sub floor so that is where we need to go.”

“And how do you plan on doing that? You don’t even know the layout of this building.” Greg points out.

“That’s where you are wrong Detective Inspector,” Sherlock glances over his shoulder as he pulls the grate from the ceiling and tosses it to the ground, “when John was first in the hospital and one of his alternate personalities made itself known I began doing research. I suspected that something might happen and Mycroft would step in to make a drastic suggestion. John would have no other choice but to accept and be brought to this place. So I made sure that I knew the blueprints to this building if this were the case.”

Lestrade is speechless, “you thought something like this might happen?”

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes. “I make sure to cover every hypothetical scenario, even the most outlandish. I like to be prepared for anything.” Without another word the tall man lifts himself into the ceiling.

Greg stares for a moment before following, though with a little less grace then the consulting detective.


	21. Unexpected

Mycroft is in danger, John is in danger, and everything seems to be falling apart before it can even begin. There had been a bright light at the end of the tunnel with a promising future but that light is getting dimmer and dimmer with every passing minute. It seemed nothing could have a simple solution or be an easy fix.

Sherlock’s mind is reeling with dread, worry, and sick anxiety. He can only focus on what might be or what could be. The only positive thing is the blueprints he has stored in his palace and he grateful once again that he made the decision to download them.

The air vent that Sherlock and Greg are wedged in, luckily, is a decent size and they aren’t having too much trouble moving about.

“How far do we have to go?” The D.I. asks his voice echoing slightly off the metal walls.               

Sherlock ignores the question and presses forward.

Within minutes Sherlock finds the shaft that plummets downward heading in the direction they need to go. Without too much preamble the lanky man eases himself over the edge and braces his arms and legs against the walls.

“Sherlock.” Greg says in a worried tone.

Again he is ignored as the taller man continues. Sherlock is moving slowly and starts to break out into a sweat, he’s doing everything to fight his cramping muscles. Chancing a glance Sherlock is glad to see the bottom is not much further. A sliding sound and Greg’s terrified yelp makes the other man look up just in time to see the detective inspector falling towards.

The next few minutes are a blur as the two fall through the ceiling into a room below. Sherlock lays on the floor with the full weight of the groaning lump on top of him.

“Lestrade.” Sherlock grumbles pushing at the D.I.

Greg moans and hisses. “Sorry.” He manages rolling off.

Sherlock slowly manages to get to his feet; with a quick assessment he is glad to find nothing is broken. Glancing around he notes where he is, using the blueprints stored within his palace Sherlock concludes that they have fallen into a storage room. The filing cabinets are dust covered and easily tell that they haven’t been used for some time.

“Are you alright, can you walk?” He asks the man still on the floor.

Greg answers by standing, “I’m going to be sore in the morning but nothing feels serious.”

Sherlock nods and moves for the door, opening it slightly he observes the empty hall. Without a word he opens the door and hurries out.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade hisses but Sherlock ignores him.

They have to find John and Mycroft, everything depends on finding them. After that Sherlock will do the thing he should have done in the first place, take John somewhere safe, outside of London and away from everything. The more time passed the more dread Sherlock felt. This had to have something to do with John and the consulting detective can’t help but feel that he might lose the man he loves again.

Cursing his thoughts Sherlock pushes them back and focusing on where the doctor and his brother would be.

“Where are we going?” The D.I. asks quietly.

Sherlock glances back at the other man. “John and Mycroft would have gone to the observation room at the end of this hallway, I doubt they’re still there but I want to be absolutely sure.” He answers feeling the twisting anxiety in his stomach.

The observation room is clear and Sherlock knows there is only one other place they can be but that most likely means that they aren’t alone.

“Where now?” Greg asks eyeing the empty room.

Sherlock looks over the man and feels a sting of sympathy towards him. The D.I. is a mess and doing a very fine job of keeping himself contained. Sherlock can see the strain on the man and wonders if this is what Greg is seeing as well but brings his mind back to the question.

“The control room,” Sherlock answers, “the central control room is the only other place Mycroft would go in the event of an attack.” Though the more time that went by, the more Sherlock is sure this isn’t an attack at all. It is more like an ambush.

The D.I. nods before moving to leave the room. Sherlock follows behind trying to anticipate what might happen next but there is nothing to go off of, all variables are a mystery.

“Where exactly is the control room?” Greg asks still moving forward.

Sherlock didn’t answer as he took the lead using the blueprints in his mind to navigate the twisting halls with the inspector hard on his heels. As they move closer to the control room Sherlock’s growing dread escalates and his mind seizes with images of John.

John’s lifeless corpse, John bleeding, John cold and unmoving, they blur together, swirling. Sherlock can feel his body freeze with the terror that washes through him.

“Sherlock?” Greg’s voice breaks through and hands are gripping his arms.

Sherlock slowly comes back to himself realizing he had stopped in the middle of the hall and on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Sherlock,” the D.I. tries again, “can you hear me?”

The taller man regains control of himself feeling embarrassed by his wayward emotions. “I’m fine.” He manages.

Greg eyes him for a moment but says nothing, letting Sherlock take a moment to collect himself.

Feeling steady Sherlock braces himself and steps forward. They are so close to the control room he can see the door and it looks far from dangerous but in his mind it is radiating.

Lestrade strides the remaining feet and grabs the door and without preamble opens it. There is no resistance from the thing as it swings in with ease. Sherlock catches up to the D.I. just as he bolts inside.

The room is mostly dark with only the light from the multiple computer monitors to see by but Sherlock spots his brother’s form on the floor near the corner of the room. Sherlock glances around and his eyes find John’s body closer to the monitors. He ignores the others in the room. Sherlock’s visions narrows as he hurries for the still form and frantically searches the doctor.

John is breathing from his slumped position in a chair set in front of one of the monitors. Sherlock feels relief when he is assured that John is uninjured.

“John,” Sherlock whispers stroking the side of the other man’s face.

The doctor doesn’t respond but he can hear voices behind him.

“Mycroft can you hear love?” Lestrade is whispering, “My please open your eyes.”

There’s a mumbled reply but Sherlock can barely hear it.

“I didn’t hear that.” Greg says.

Mycroft speaks again a little louder but still incoherent expect for one word; “John.”

“It’s alright John’s right here, he’s unharmed but unconscious.” The D.I. tells the other man.

“No,” came a sharp tone that is sluggish, “careful, John.” There are other words but they are lost as something hard knocks into the distracted consulting detective.

Sherlock lands heavily on the floor with a weight on his chest. The oxygen is forced from his lungs and hands grip around his neck keeping the air from relieving his body. There is shouting around him but blood is pounding in Sherlock’s ears muffling it and somehow he can’t see his attacker everything is too dark. He is well versed in defensive techniques but all clear thought has gone out the window and all he can do is limply attempt to fight off the offender.

As his consciousness begins dimming all Sherlock can do is wonder and hope John is alright. He wished that whoever his murderer was that they will leave John alive and just kill Sherlock, if anyone in the world deserved life, it was John.

“Enough!”

The shout causes the attacker to disappear suddenly leaving a gasping Sherlock behind.

His vision clears and he inhales sharply, greedily sucking in oxygen. Sherlock coughs and sputters trying to regain control of his lungs. He is dimly aware of voices speaking nearby.

“My pet that is no way to treat your toys,” It’s a women’s voice and she sounds vaguely familiar but as he still fights for air Sherlock can’t focus enough.

“Sherlock,” the woman is closer, “It’s been a long time hasn’t it?”

Sherlock looks towards the voice and has to hide his surprise.

The slim woman with mousey brown hair and dark brown eyes looming over him is Molly. The shy pathologist of St. Bart’s has been stripped away of her quiet demeanor and timid nature. Before Sherlock is someone completely different, she looks closer to the Woman then Molly.

“Surprise?” She asks with a wicked grin nothing like the soft smiles he is used to getting, “I am rather a good actress, even the great Sherlock Holmes was blind to me.”

Sherlock is surprised and bewildered and maybe a little confused. He hadn’t seen Molly in almost two years and had almost forgotten about her. Ignoring her Sherlock looks around the room and spots John standing at attention behind her. “John.” He croaks barely above a whisper. His throat rubbed raw and sore.

John doesn’t acknowledge him or move.

Molly glances over her shoulder smirking, “such a good solider isn’t he? Johnny wasn’t even that hard to train once James began his lessons.” She walks closer to him and runs a hand down his chest, “My little soldier loves his mommy, doesn’t he?” Molly coos.

“Leave him alone.” Sherlock wheezes sitting up on his elbows.

Molly laughs softly. “But Sherlock I’ve worked so hard to get your attention, I thought that brain washing the lovely doctor here would have you right where I want you and…well it worked.” She says trailing around John, “You are so enamored by this simple man that you’re slipping Sherlock and in your line of business, that’s dangerous.”

Sherlock’s mind jumps through all of memories containing Molly but nothing fits. “Who are you?” He asks. He has already thought she could be Moriarty’s sibling or love interest but no that’s not it. There is no family resemblance and zero signs of emotional connection.

Molly smirks. “No one of consequence, I’m just your biggest fan.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “I was lead to believe James was my biggest fan.”

“That’s what I wanted you to think,” Molly says, “I had to let you think you knew the extent of my organization so that you would miss the crucial element.”

“You?” Sherlock asks.

Molly smiles slowly, “me.” She confirms. Her smile fades, replaced by a sneer. “But now James is dead and my organization is in shambles.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to smirk. “Not as clever as you thought.” He says his eyes flickering over to the statue of John.

“No, that wasn’t my goal,” She says stroking John’s face, “No this right here was my prize, seeing you on your knees with the love of your life in the balance, isn’t it poetic.” John blinks slowly.

Sherlock grinds his teeth before slowly moving to stand.

Molly doesn’t try to stop him and even smiles slightly.

To the left of her Greg is crouched next to Mycroft, both watch the proceedings in silence. Sherlock gives a curt nod towards his brother knowing his message will be received.

“What will you do now?” Sherlock asks, “Molly, what are your plans?”

“Oh you know,” Molly says, “with you out of the way there are some options. I doubt I’ll have to worry about anyone after you’re gone. No one is as clever as you.”

“And what of John?” Sherlock doesn’t want to direct attention towards the doctor but his insides are screaming.

Molly glances at the man. “My little Johnny has a big job in front of him. I’m going to have him kill you.”

Sherlock expected that.

“Then after your dead or maybe before your completely dead I’ll say the magic words so Johnny can see with his own eyes what he’s done. Can you imagine the doctor’s face when he realizes that his finger pulled the trigger that killed you?” Molly chuckles lightly under her breath.

Sherlock’s body goes cold with the thought. He needed to come up with a solution as soon as possible to get everyone out alive before things drastically changed.

“Or maybe I’ll keep him around. I do so love him as a pet. I could use a body guard who is absolutely loyal while I rebuild what you ruined.” Molly muses.

There’s nothing for Sherlock to use as a weapon, nothing in his pockets would serve any use either. Some kind of miracle needed to happen in the next few minutes.

“I’ll have to decide later,” Molly finishes shrugging her shoulders, “Johnny, my little soldier, kill Sherlock.”

John moves out of his stance and strides towards Sherlock pulling a gun.

All of the breath leaves Sherlock’s body, John is a trained soldier, no skills Sherlock possess will ever compare to John’s. Sherlock readies himself. It seemed like so long ago that he was willing to take his own life when it seemed that there was nothing to live for. Now all Sherlock wished was that John wouldn’t be the one pulling the trigger.

John stops inches from him with the barrel pointed between Sherlock’s eyes. A few seconds of inhaling and exhaling passed.

“It’s alright John,” Sherlock whispers leaning forward so the cold metal is pressed into his skull, “It’s all going to be alright John. Everything is going to be fine. I love you, can you hear me? I love you.” The words are spilling from his mouth without preamble.

John’s arm twitches and his eyes narrow in confusion. “Shut up.” He hisses.

“Just do it John, just let me go.” Sherlock murmurs, “I should have let you go before but I couldn’t, or I wouldn’t. John you have changed me, you’ve made me better and I wouldn’t change that for the world. The time we’ve had was just barrowed and now it’s time to let it go, so do it John. I love you.”

“Stop,” John’s arm tenses and his fingers turn white from gripping the gun so hard.

“I love you.” Sherlock is now chanting quietly and keeping his eyes locked with John’s.

The doctor’s face is a contorted in something akin to pain and his whole body begins to shake. He presses the gun harder into Sherlock’s head and the man’s eyes fall shut.

Sherlock lets his memories take over. He remembers all this years ago the invalid army doctor limping into the lab at St. Bart’s. How the man had caught his interest in seconds and then again after shooting the cabbie. Time after time John proved everything Sherlock thought about him wrong and slowly Sherlock’s heart melted until he thought John lost. Now Sherlock was about to lose the man again but this time permanently.

“I love you.”

A soft click followed by a loud bang rang out.

Sherlock shuddered and felt slightly confused when he didn’t feel…well dead. Cautiously he opened his eyes to look at the back of John. Over the shorter man’s shoulder he could see Molly staring at John with wide disbelieving eyes. For a moment she looked just like the Molly Sherlock remembered.

“How?” She whispered as blood bubbled from her lips. Red was blossoming from her chest and quickly soaking her clothes.

No one said anything before she crumpled to the floor.

A second pass then John drops the gun, breathing heavily and swaying. Sherlock moves forward and gripping the other man to keep him standing.

John’s head snaps around, “Sherlock?” He sounds confused.

“Hush John,” Sherlock murmurs, “it’s alright.”

“What?” John asks leaning against Sherlock, “What happened?”

Sherlock pulls him backwards and maneuvers him into a chair, “it would seem my dear Watson that you broke the brain washing.”

“I…what?” John asks looking at the body on the floor, “Sherlock it’s Molly.”

Sherlock shakes his head, “no John, that’s not Molly that was never Molly.”

John drags his eyes from the corpse to Sherlock’s face and his eyes widen. “You’re hurt.” He says reaching up to a cut on Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock smiles, “it’s nothing you can’t fix doctor.”

“Sherlock what happened?” John asks.

Sherlock bites his lip. “We’ll talk about it later.”

John falls quiet but looks very distressed and goes about examining the cut on Sherlock’s head. Around them things start to move. People fill the room and talk in adorn that neither understand.

“Are you alright?” John asks quietly.

Sherlock feels tears burning the edges of his eyes when he hears the concern in the other man’s voice. “I’ll be fine.” He fakes annoyance, smiling.

John snorts and strokes Sherlock’s cheek. “I’m sure you will.”

They don’t talk much after that with the hustle of the others in the room. Mycroft is taken care of and Lestrade trails behind steadily. No one approaches John without getting a stern look from Sherlock. Finally they are lead to an empty room and John is allowed to fall asleep with Sherlock holding him.


	22. Connection

Everything is moving slowly. John’s gun knocks Mycroft to the ground, there’s a roar in his head that is muffling everything else.

“I love you.”

A whispering voice calls and John can feel himself floating but it’s more like moving through jelly.

“I love you.”

There’s darkness pressing in on him and pain all over his body. John’s eyes can’t see but he can tell he’s in a damp room most likely underground, he can hear the tube cars. Things are beeping steadily nearby and he’s strapped down to something at a vertical angle.

“Don’t worry Johnny boy, we’ll take care of you.” Moriarty’s voice echoes in the dark.

John screams as agony runs through him like knives. Moriarty’s laughter meddles together with a woman’s and the noise drills into his brain.

The laughter cuts off suddenly and John is outside the bitter cold is stinging his eyes. Someone is talking to him and hands are holding him.

“Johnny, listen to mother. You will do as you are told and follow everything mother tells you.” The voice is so familiar John knows he’s heard it before. “Mother needs it Johnny, you I will give you a very special treat when you succeed.”

John doesn’t know what the voice wants but he knows it can’t be good. He has a bad feeling something is going to happen that he won’t be able to stop or worse it will be something he started. Sherlock needed to be warned before everything falls part, more than it already has.

“That’s my good boy.” The woman murmurs and the scene fades.

John is in a darkened room there’s very low light from a lamp overhead and he’s in some sort of control room. He can see Sherlock’s face and he wants to reach for him but he is still. Sherlock’s face is contorted and John needs to comfort him but he doesn’t move, he can’t move. His body refuses to cooperate, John is nothing more than a prisoner in his own head. He watches as things play out in slowly motion.

Sherlock is kneeling before him, looking up with a pleading look but John can do nothing. The taller man’s mouth is moving but John only watches hearing none of his words. Another person is nearby John can sense them and he knows who it is but he can’t place them, his brain won’t function properly.

Sherlock is now on his feet, swaying.

There is a gun in John’s hand and the cool metal and plastic pressed into his palm is amplified. His heart beats faster and he wants to pull away but he’s still unable to control himself.

“It’s alright John,” Sherlock whispers his voice echoing eerily, “It’s all going to be alright John…I love you…”

John opens his mouth to confirm Sherlock’s words but nothing he wants come out, just a short hissed; “shut up.” The gun is pressed into Sherlock’s skull, so close to that precious brain that John loves.

“Just do it John, just let me go.” Sherlock whispers.

John screams and suddenly he can move again, spinning away from Sherlock a shot rings out hitting someone else. It takes John a moment to recognize the face, one that once held love and kindness, its Molly but not the Molly he remembers. This Molly is a different women and she is staring at him in shock, blood dripping from her mouth.

“How?” She whispers her clothes turning crimson before collapsing to the floor.

 

John wakes with an arm draped across his chest. It takes a moment to remember where he is and who's arm is around him. His mind feels fuzzy and everything seems more dream like than his actual dreams. Slowly the world comes into focus and John understands everything that had happened. The body next to him shifts and John clutches at it. He knows what he's done and what he had almost brought about, he would have been the one with the bloodied hands if things had gone as planned. 

“I killed Molly.” He says out loud knowing Sherlock is awake and listening, “I killed her when she tried to make me kill you.”

Sherlock nuzzles closer and tightens his hold.

“She was the one behind everything, she sent Moriarty after you in the beginning, and she’s the one who brain washed me.” John says. He knows Sherlock already knows this but he needs to say it, saying it might make it sound less frightening.

“She wanted to get into Wigmore Hall to access Mycroft’s databases and she saw an opportunity to take out her greatest threat. She knew that Mycroft would take me to Wigmore eventually and made it one of my trigger words so I would make it easier for her to get in. She wanted everything, that was on anyone so she could expand her network and reconnect the lines you destroyed.” John paused collecting his thoughts.

“I remember everything from the last two years and everything I had forgotten, I think I always remembered it, things were just a little muddled. Moriarty wanted to hurt you by taking me and Molly wanted the secrets Mycroft had so they teamed up together to create two different personalities that would carry out their plan. Most of my memories are hazy, I doubt I had a day without drugs in my system and I’m surprised I didn’t die when I was taking off them.”

“Moriarty knew you would come after him and he knew he would most likely end up dead. Molly set it up so you would find me after Moriarty’s death. She planned everything, she knew you.” John whispers.

Sherlock lifts his head and focuses on John. “Molly certainly slipped through, I would never have pegged her until I saw it with my own eyes, and even now I can scarcely believe it. She was so much cleverer than I gave her credit for but I suppose that might have been her game from the beginning. She used her time well.”

John bites the inside of his cheek, “You sound as if you admire her?” He spits.

“I don’t admire her,” Sherlock assures calmly, “I’m just surprised that she was able to go by so unnoticed by me, I didn’t even give her an inkling of a thought these past two years when she was the one who could have ended everything. Everyone would have died and it would have been my fault because I was too arrogant to properly do what I claim to be the best at. If she had succeeded I would have lost everything and you would be the only one left but you would only be Molly's mindless puppet until she released you so she could bask in your grief.” He growls.

John strokes down Sherlock’s spine feeling the muscles jump and spasm. “Human error.” The doctor whispers smiling at the snort that the other man makes.

“and here I thought I was above such petty flaws.” Sherlock mumbles.

“To err is human.” John says moving his head to breath into Sherlock’s hair.

“To forgive; divine.” Sherlock finishes.

***

The next few days the world begins to unravel. With Molly’s death many underground organization go belly up and things came to light that hadn't been known. Mycroft played referee to try and deflate some of the claims before they got too out of hand but the media was too quick. Within a day the world knew of the corruption throughout elitist groups and riots broke out, hundreds upon thousands of highly paid government officials were arrested, went missing or fled.

Luckily through all the chaos John and Sherlock remain out of the headlines. John’s night terrors were much worse and only sleeping pills gave him any sense of relief but now that the stress of everything was dying down John had hope for the future.

Sherlock still feared something would happen to John and he hovered like the mad man he was but he managed to keep himself in check. John knew he couldn't have survived any of it without the self-claimed sociopath.

In the end it wasn’t lovers riding off into the sunset and a ‘they lived happily ever after’ cliché, no, not with these two. In the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson everyday is a new adventure that could lead to certain doom but they will always find a way to come out ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks, that's everything for this little tangent. It was rough getting to the end of this and it was a long process but here it is. Sorry if it's not the way you wanted it to end but I thought it was a good place to stop. So thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
